Lost in time
by CharisCroft
Summary: This is an Avengers/Oregon Trail crossover - lots of time travel, memory loss etc. Please note - this is set in the MCU, after Civil War BUT written before Civil War is released. There are certain assumptions made about the events of Civil War (that will be obvious when you read) that may not end up being strictly accurate. First draft - will be updated as editing occurs
1. Chapter 1

It was over in a flash of orange light. One moment Steve was there, arm poised to launch his shield, then the light and…no Steve. The shock rooted all of the Avengers to the ground; it couldn't have been for more than a fraction of a second, but it stretched into a lifetime as their assailants turned and scattered.

They weren't quick enough though. Inevitably, first to move was Natasha, who sprinted after the nearest fleeing body and tripped him. Even in the unfamiliar terrain of downtown Brooklyn she was quicker and more manoeuvrable than most people. Horror and rage fuelled her, driving her to run faster, punch harder, dodge more sharply as he fought back with a fanatic's desperation. But her cold, calculating core never lost control, channelling the anger and fear to incapacitate rather than kill, suppressing the urge to make him pay. He'd pay, but only once he'd told them what they needed to know. So she focussed her whole fight on knocking him out cleanly. As she fought, she called over the comms to the others, telling them to find the one with the weapon.

As it turned out, there'd been no need. Barnes was already running, Wilson taking off after him. She just hoped that Bucky would keep control. He wasn't exactly stable, and losing Steve… Her opponent down, she went after them. Hopefully quickly enough to help Sam hold Bucky back before he did anything drastic.

There wasn't a lot of coherent thought happening in Bucky's head, just the crushing knowledge that Steve had somehow gone. Steve, his one link to reality. Without Steve… He was just an animal, a killing machine: The Winter Soldier, off the leash and wild. His awareness narrowed down to just the running man in front of him, the one who was responsible, the one who'd wielded the strange weapon that had robbed him of his best friend. He was sprinting for his life, but the Winter Soldier could run faster, could use his metal arm to grab him, could use it to crush him. He felt bones crack beneath his fingers, and his target screamed. Filled with a fierce joy, he let go to pull his fist back and pound this villain into a pulp, to make him hurt – but suddenly the face in front of him changed, no longer his target, but a vaguely familiar woman… Struggling against the urge to lash out anyway, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on what Natasha was saying to him. But as he processed what she was saying, that he couldn't kill the man, his self-control shredded into tatters – he roared at her in defiance and tried to push her out of his way. She dodged his attack, urgently shouting that he had the weapon that had taken Steve, and they needed him alive, in case he could bring Steve back. Bring him back? Was that possible? He stilled again, feeling his mind fracturing, changing. The animal bloodlust was fading, discordant thoughts and memories pushing it away. Saving Steve had always been the strongest drive in his life. He couldn't do anything to put him in danger. Still struggling to hold on to himself, he forced himself to take a step back, as Sam landed in front of them, eyeing him warily, seeing the signs of a potential meltdown. Natasha meanwhile was searching the prone individual, pulling weapons out from hidden pockets. They weren't weapons Bucky recognised – they looked somehow alien. Apart from the wicked knives and blades; those he was very familiar with. She even searched his mouth, wrenching a fake tooth out to prevent him biting on the cyanide capsule when he came to. Having finished her search, she turned her attention to one particular weapon – it looked almost like a fairy wand, with a strange orange stone embedded at the end of it. It brought to mind the sceptre, in a strange kind of way, and she shuddered, hoping they weren't dealing with anything like that. Leaving the other weapons in a pile, she gingerly picked it up, holding it as far from the strange stone as she could, and headed back to base, nodding to Sam to make sure Bucky followed. After Steve, Sam was the only one Bucky seemed to trust at all, and he was the only one who seemed to be able to calm him down. Without touching him, Sam spoke gently but firmly to him, trying to ground him, and shepherding him after Natasha. Bucky trudged along slowly, trying to keep control of himself. He couldn't risk letting the Winter Soldier have mastery of him, but keeping his mind together meant remembering the moment that Steve had vanished. Steve was gone. The sense of loss was incredible, and unimaginable. It wasn't just having lost his best friend again but that this whole world, this time, was too strange and beyond him; Steve had been helping him come to terms with it… He forced himself not to think that Steve was gone. Natasha had said something about getting him back. If it was possible, he would do whatever it took to make it happen.

Interrogation was Natasha's speciality. Not usually so crudely of course, but getting information out of two injured individuals strapped to chairs would be no challenge. Especially with broken bones to exploit. She suspected they were fanatical types, though, or brainwashed, and those types could be tediously stubborn. On the other hand, Barnes was looking especially unstable and dangerous, and the threat of letting him loose would probably be enough to tip them over. Preferably without actually having to let him loose – in his current state, she had no guarantee she could stop him if he lost control. This was how it always was, her mind running through options and strategies at the speed of light. She sighed. It was good to have options, but you never knew until you were in the middle of a situation which was the best way to go.

She sat quietly by the man who had wielded that strange wand as he blinked himself awake and watched him realise he was bound. He winced as he struggled against his bonds, and she suppressed a smile; if there was pain, that could only be good for extracting information.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Her voice was calm, soothing, but his head whipped round, alarm flashing in his eyes. He didn't speak, just stared at her, eyes dilating with panic. "I have painkillers here. But first I need you to tell me everything. Tell me what you did to Captain America."

"I will not tell you anything." His voice was surprisingly strong; perhaps she'd over-estimated the damage Barnes had done. She could see his tongue probing the side of his mouth, vainly searching for the fake tooth and its fast release; as soon as she saw it dawn on him that it had gone, she smashed her hand into his damaged arm and was rewarded with a whimper of pain.

Still soothingly, she said, "I'm just starting. I can hurt you more. Or you can tell me what I want to know."

"Never!" The voice was less strong now, but the determination was still clear. Natasha decided she didn't have time for the long game. Whatever had happened to Steve, he might be suffering and not have a lot of time left. She gestured, and the prisoner turned his head to see the Winter Soldier standing behind him, half hidden in shadow, menace in his stance, and murder in his expression.

"Just within reach of you is the most deadly assassin of the last two centuries. He has over 50 credited kills. He can crush cars into scrap. And he has spent the last 70 years being used and abused by HYDRA." She saw something, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps fear, in his eyes. Something she could exploit. "He's not the most stable of individuals, as you might have noticed." And indeed, after the events of earlier, Barnes' eyes were bloodshot and his metal hand was clenching and unclenching spasmodically. She couldn't have scripted it better. "And less than an hour ago, in front of his eyes, you did something to his best friend, to the one person who tethers him to sanity, to this time and place". Odd, had there been another flicker as she said 'time'? "If you don't tell us what you did to him, I don't know if I can stop him from finishing what he started". A satisfying shudder went through her captive, and she saw the pain bloom as it went through the crushed bones. Perfect. "And I don't know that I'd want to anyway".

Silence grew, only punctured by the faint whirr of the servos in that metal arm. As the silence grew heavy, and stretched out, Natasha finally turned to the Winter Soldier.

"Ok. Over to you."

There was only time for him to take one step towards the prisoner, his hair falling in front of his face like a wild man. Natasha knew that the bound man would have seen the feral joy in his eyes and realized that this would be slow and painful, and inevitably end in his broken death.

"You can't do anything about it! I can't help you". The Winter Soldier was swinging his arm back. Not as skilled as she was in this art, he hadn't realized that their prey had broken. They'd won, at least this part of the battle.

"Stop, Bucky!" she called out, but realised that he was too far gone to respond. "Barnes! No!"

"Stand down, soldier." Sam's voice was firm, freighted with the weight of military command. She saw the Winter Soldier flinch, and hesitate, HYDRA's conditioning for once in line with the even older conditioning of the 1940's soldier, his eyes flickering doubt. He turned to look at Sam, who met his gaze unflinchingly and held it, daring him to disobey. Natasha could only admire his bravery; nothing would make her willingly challenge an out-of-control Bucky Barnes. She watched as the tide turned in the battle, and finally it was Bucky who looked out of those eyes, confused and lost, but Bucky nonetheless. Stifling a sigh of relief, she turned back to her captive.

"As you can see, we don't exactly have him under the best of control. So I suggest you start talking. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

"So what you're saying is that Rogers has been sent back in time? That this stone has the power to do that?" Nick Fury did not look like he was having a good day. Behind him, Tony was listening in as he tinkered with Barnes' metal arm. Barnes barely seemed to be aware of him – he sat slumped in his seat, staring into the distance, thoughts a million miles away.

Natasha nodded. "Seems like it's another one of Thor's infinity stones – this one works with time. I suspect it does a lot more than time travel, but I'm not sure that the man I took it from really knows a lot about it. He's not one of their scientists, he's just one of their grunts. Not hugely bright; I guess they didn't tell him any more than he needed to know."

"Any idea where in time they've sent him?"

"When," interjected Tony. Fury just looked at him. "What? You don't go 'where' when you're talking about time."

"1843, as far as we can tell," replied Natasha, deciding that ignoring Tony, as so often was the case, was the easiest course of action. "Our friend was pretty clear about that. Less informative about why then in particular, but like I said, I don't think they told him a lot."

"And why send him back in time? Why not just kill him?" asked Tony. Beside him, Bucky tensed at the thought of Steve being dead, but Tony being Tony, he just went right on tinkering. He could disable the arm in an instant, but the rest of Barnes was still pretty deadly. Having said that, Tony and risk had always been an explosive combination.

"Again, he wasn't very clear on that. So far as I can tell, Steve was going to do something important soon, something that would pretty much be the end of HYDRA and their schemes. And they decided that rather than let him do whatever it was, they'd remove him. I have no idea why they came up with such a convoluted plan." She shrugged. "If it had been me, I'd have just killed him."

The look Barnes directed at her could have crumbled mountains. In spite of herself, she took a step back. She couldn't deny that she was genuinely afraid of him. He had all of Steve's strength, and seemingly none of his gentleness or moral compass. She knew it was just the conditioning, but the Bucky side of him wasn't yet strong enough to rein it in.

"Yeah, Natasha," chirped Tony. "Let's not use that kind of language in front of the out-of-control attack dog, shall we?"

"There's no need for that." Sam, silent throughout, now spoke for the first time. " _Bucky_ is still a person, and he can still hear you."

Bucky, meanwhile, had subsided back into his seat, and was staring at the floor. He wasn't trying to gain control of anything; he'd been himself, his Bucky self, all along. He gave a mirthless chuckle at the realisation that he'd terrified Natasha just by being himself. That had been _Bucky's_ reaction to her talking so casually about Steve's death, not the Winter Soldier's. As Tony once again, having totally ignored Sam's interruption, questioned the need for such a complicated plot, involving 'all this alien hocus pocus', Bucky sighed. Wasn't it obvious?

"Because Captain America is hard to kill." Bucky's voice sounded rusty with disuse. He looked up at Tony as he spoke. "Seventy years under a polar ice cap couldn't do it." He swallowed. "Multiple gunshot wounds, being beaten to a bloody pulp and then nearly drowned couldn't do it. He heals too well, and he doesn't take damage like normal people. If they were only going to get one chance, something like this is far more likely to work. And then he's out of the way – it's as good as him being dead." He shuddered as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Think – in this time, he really is dead."

"Looks like we'd better find a way to get him back, then." Tony's response was uncharacteristically subdued. "So, I'll take a look at the stone, figure out how it works, and we'll send someone back to get him. Shouldn't be too difficult."

"In the meantime, someone should probably try and figure out what HYDRA are planning in this time," said Natasha. "For all we know, Steve's timely intervention could be supposed to happen tomorrow. Maybe if we can figure it out, someone else could take his place."

"I'll put some people on it." Fury spoke decisively. "Romanov, you need to prepare yourself to take a trip back in time. Barnes, you too. Stark, you're going to have to come up with some way to hide his arm."

"Wait a minute. I wouldn't normally question your decisions, Fury, but you're seriously planning to send America's Next Top Super Soldier on this mission? With his grip on reality being – well, let's just say erratic, shall we?"

"He has the motivation to succeed, Tony. And no, it's not your place to question my decisions." Fury was cold, firm, trying his best to shut down this angle.

"I mean, undercover is second nature to Romanov, she's an obvious choice. But why bother with a second agent at all? Especially that one." Tony was, as ever, oblivious to even not-so-subtle hints.

"Are you planning to try and stop me, Stark?" Bucky half rose from his seat, leaning toward him, his eyes fierce. Stark, never one to back down from a challenge, started forward too, glancing at Fury as if to say his point had been proved.

"Calm down, Barnes. No-one's going to stop you from going." Fury spoke decisively. "Not only because, unlike some I could mention, I realise the futility of trying to, but because you're the best choice. But you need to hold it together." Nodding, and forcing himself to focus, Bucky sat back down again. Even when he wasn't losing the battle for control with the Winter Soldier, his fractured memories meant that he couldn't always trust his reactions to be proportionate.

"Best choice? Really? What about Wilson? He's Steve's friend too, and he's not crazy or brainwashed."

"Really, Stark? You think I'm a good choice? We're talking about the 1840s here – pre-Civil War, pre-Abraham Lincoln. It's an unenlightened time when I'd have been a possession, not a person."

"Barton, then."

"Absolutely not." Natasha jumped in. "He has a wife and family to think about. We risk being stranded nearly 200 years in the past. He's not going." And then, before Tony could speak again, she continued, "Barnes and I make the best choice. Not only because the society of the time finds us both acceptable, but because if we end up lost, there's no-one here to miss us. We're infinitely more expendable than anyone else."

The silence stretched long enough to indicate that Tony had no more arguments, so Fury took command. "Romanov, Barnes, we don't know what you're going to face when you go back. It might be easy to locate Rogers – the time shift might take you straight to him. But you might have to pass muster among civilians. So research the time, try to find ways not to draw attention to yourselves, find something period-appropriate to wear – you know the drill, Romanov. And remember, you won't be able to rely on the technology you take for granted today. You're going to have to do things the old-fashioned way."

"And no messing up the timestream; Temporal Prime Directive and all that." Natasha's response to Tony's flippant comment was a withering look. But despite himself, Bucky smiled. Perhaps the pop culture references Tony made went over his head a little, but there was something about time travel that had always fascinated him. He'd loved most science fiction stories, but it was the ones about time travel, starting with _The Time Machine,_ that had really fired his imagination. And in the brief time he'd spent consciously being Bucky Barnes in the 21st century, Steve had introduced him to some of the more recent advances in the time travel oeuvre.

"The Doctor's orders, right?" he said to Tony, who looked most gratifyingly astounded at his comment. Natasha's expression, however, just got more withering.

Natasha was finding herself uncharacteristically distracted as she sat in front of one of Stark's hi-tech screens an hour or so later. Ostensibly, she was researching life in the 1840s, and more specifically, fashions of the 1840s in order to construct a convincing disguise, but her attention kept being caught by the man sitting across the room from her. Deadly master assassin he might be, but right now, engrossed in reading on his own screen, he looked for all the world just like Steve Rogers' handsome sidekick from the 1940s. Take away the metal arm, and the – well, the hair, that was going to have to go; nobody in the 1840s wore their hair like that – but take away all that, and he really was just Bucky Barnes. Hard to reconcile with the out of control feral monster he'd been when Steve had vanished, and yet he was that, too. And only incredibly terrifying when that side came out. Natasha was not at all sure she wanted to be going back into the past with only this man for back-up. If he had a meltdown when they were there, and she'd seen one of his meltdowns, and they were not for the faint-hearted, she wasn't sure she'd be able to cope. Of course, if they found Rogers, then he'd be able to cope, but if they didn't…

Suddenly aware of her scrutiny, Bucky looked over at her questioningly. Natasha, caught out looking, chose the brazen way out.

"Your hair. It's not a traditional 1840s style – you'll have to cut it."

Bucky frowned, but then shrugged.

"I've been reading about society back then. It would be highly irregular for a single woman to travel on her own, or in the company of a man she wasn't related to, so I think you'll have to be my sister."

"Wife."

"Wh-what?"

"There is absolutely no family resemblance between us. Me being your wife makes more sense. And makes us stand out less."

Bucky could only stare at her.

"Just don't get any ideas."

The stare turned into a full-blown goggle.

"Glad we've got that established." And with that, she turned back to her screen.

"Still working on the time stick, but don't worry, I'll have your answers soon. Barnes, I've developed something that should help to disguise your arm from all but the most inquisitive. Hint – don't let anyone get too inquisitive. If they touch it, they'll know it's not real – it's kind of hard to disguise a huge hunk of metal. Just stay away from the ladies, you'll be fine."

"Stark…"

"By the way, I much prefer your new look. It's a big improvement on the Jesus Terminator vibe you had going on."

Bucky sighed. Could he never, ever just be serious?

"And, knowing how much Romanov loves her tech, I've come up with a couple of things that should help you. Obviously, this is before the days of wireless, quite literally, but crucially for you, those radio waves do still exist back then, so I've developed a crude, yet effective, comms system for you. A small and discreet earpiece, and an easily concealed state-of-the-art microphone, and as long as you don't stray too far from each other, you'll be able to talk to each other. Just be careful when you use it, okay? If anyone sees you talking to yourself, they'll probably put you on trial for witchcraft."

"For God's sake, Tony…"

"Also, as I know neither of you is big on your American history, I've put together data tablets for you. I've downloaded half the internet onto it, so knock yourself out. At least it might help you blend in if you get stuck there for any reason. Solar-powered batteries – I know, I'm spoiling you."

"I've got people working on costumes for you now – should be finished by the end of the day".

Fury was practical, and a contrast to Tony's flippancy. Although, as ever, under the tone, he'd actually provided some practical solutions.

"I'm also forging you some cash. If you're not close to Rogers you may have to find out where he is and nothing opens mouths like money."

"Try and give us plenty. We don't know what we'll be facing. And if we do get stuck…."

Natasha didn't want to contemplate that possibility more than she had to – but you built in contingency and back-up plans, and then back-up plans for the back-up plans whilst hoping you never needed to fall back on them. This mission could be ridiculously simple – go back, grab Steve, come home. But there were a _lot_ of unknowns to be considered, and so you planned and planned some more and thought through all the possible scenarios. Just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

March 23rd, 2017

So tomorrow I'm heading off back into the past with Romanov to try to find Steve and bring him back. Tony's figured out how to use the time stone, or whatever it is (Natasha said something about an Infinity Stone, but I don't really know what she meant by that). At least, he says he has – I guess we'll find out tomorrow if he's right. We're as ready as we can be I guess – I'm the proud owner of a new haircut, and if I wasn't the easiest of customers because let's face it, sharp objects near my head tend to set Mr Winter Soldier off, I'm actually quite happy about the end result. I look less like him now, and more like – well, whoever the hell I am now.

…I'm not very good at this. My therapist, also known as Sam Wilson, the flying Falcon, says that writing things down can help me to make sense of things, especially when I'm struggling with memories coming back, and also just to let out what I'm feeling in a hopefully not so destructive way (he's only saying that because he's fed up of me destroying his chairs…). I haven't really given much thought to it before – I mean, he keeps telling me to do it, but writing things down in a diary? It's too much like being a teenage girl. And fine, when I said that to Sam, he gave me one of those 'don't be such a moron, Barnes' looks, but it still feels weird. So I hadn't been doing it. But then Sam came up with a new idea – the computer system in the compound can record and write down what you say, so now I'm supposed to sit in front of a screen and talk to myself. Needless to say, I've not being doing much of that either. But now, when I'm possibly about to get lost in the past (I don't know why, but I have such a bad feeling about tomorrow's mission), it feels like it might be a good thing to do. Not because I need to talk about how I'm feeling, but because I feel I need to set the record about myself straight, before I get lost for good in the mists of time.

So here goes.

I am _not_ a good man. And I'm not talking about the Winter Soldier. He's not a good man either, but then I have my doubts whether he's even a man at all. He seems more like a computer programme sometimes. Lines and lines of what Tony calls 'code', all priming him to respond in a predictable way to certain situations. Of late, no one's been giving him the instructions he's come to expect – he doesn't like the ones I give him for some reason – and that's been leading to some erratic behaviour on his part. And many, many broken alarm clocks…

But I don't mean him. I mean the man behind him – James Buchanan Barnes. I'm not even sure I'm him anymore, but once upon a time I was, and people seem to keep on treating me like I am him, so maybe on some level I still am. I've seen my memorial in the Smithsonian, and I know that Steve has told just about everyone that will listen to him (and being as he's Captain America, that's an awful lot of people) about how generally amazing and wonderful I am, but it's not true. People think that because the great and wonderful Steve Rogers was my best friend, I must be every bit as good as him, but I'm not, and I never was. I'm selfish, not selfless, and I'm ruthless, not merciful. Steve might see only the best in people – but I see the worst. And I'm not brave, not like him. I have no idea what Steve ever saw in me, but he's my only saving grace.

My memories are fragmented and broken – I don't remember everything about my life before HYDRA got their hands on me, but a lot of what I do remember is to do with Steve. Some of the rest I've got from him, and there are some bits that aren't to do with Steve at all, but to do with- No. If I go down that road, I won't come back.

I don't remember a lot about being the Winter Soldier; I think the constant merry-go-round of freezer/mind wipe/mission has permanently damaged my brain. I think perhaps it's a mercy, but the brief sideswipes of the flashbacks I sometimes get do blindside me. And I'm hard to control when they do.

But Steve. I guess they never managed to get him out of my system, and ultimately he was able to break through years and years of brainwashing and conditioning where I couldn't. I sometimes feel like all that time I must have been somewhere inside, screaming in horror at what they were making me do, but I think that's just a conceit of mine, maybe a way to try to distance myself from what I've done. I know the others say what the Winter Soldier did wasn't me, that I was a victim of HYDRA as much as any of the people I killed, and in some ways, so much more a victim, but I think that's not entirely true. I'm still here on some level, I still remember being Bucky Barnes, so I should have been able to stop myself. Shouldn't I? And why didn't I? Because I didn't have Steve. He was my goodness, my moral compass, he was the one who made me behave; without him, I don't have the strength of character to be the hero. And even with him, it's debatable. I had to see his face again to find the moral courage to stand up to the Winter Soldier, and I did. Which means I could have done it at any time before, and I didn't. So those kills are my kills too. And that's not something I'm sure I can live with.

So here's the truth about me. And when I'm gone, someone will find this, and then at least they'll know the real me, not the me that Steve has canonised into some kind of demigod. Because I'm not a good man.

I was born in 1917 (and I do actually remember that, which is a good thing, because S.H.I.E.L.D. really weren't sure…) I mean, I don't remember being born or anything, I mean I remember my birthday – oh never mind… And mostly what I remember is Steve. Apparently, I have – had – three younger sisters, but I don't really remember them. There's a vague possibility that they're still alive today, but it wouldn't feel right to seek them out. I barely remember their names, and I don't know how they'd take to seeing their big brother looking like he's 70 years younger than them. And explaining how that's the case – I don't think they'd understand. They don't live in the same world as the Avengers and Steve – it wouldn't make sense to them. Plus, finding out your brother's a mass-murdering fanatic? Not even family ties will stand up to that…

Steve when he was younger – well, you'd never have guessed he'd grow up to be the world's best super soldier. He had pretty much every medical condition going – and he was small. He didn't grow so tall as the rest of us. It didn't really matter when we were both little, but as we got older, and I started growing, and he didn't, well, that's where things didn't go so well. Because Steve's personality was too big for that skinny frame, and he would not back down from a fight. I know this, because more often than not, I was the one who ended them. Steve hated bullies, and he hated injustice, and when he saw either, he went charging in to defend the afflicted. And usually ended up on the receiving end of a beating. Unless I was there; I didn't really care about the preceding bullying or injustice, but I did care about people hurting Steve.

You might not believe it, but I'm fairly certain I never started a fight of my own. I was too afraid of being hurt, of getting beaten up myself. I'd walk past situations and not get involved – I told you I wasn't a good man. But when Steve got himself involved, and someone started on him, I had to get involved. Because I couldn't stand by and see him hurt. The fact that some people actively avoided getting into a situation with Steve when I was around tells you that if I'd wanted to go around starting fights, I'd have been more than ok, but I never really saw it like that at the time. But when I saw Steve in danger, alarm bells started ringing, and without thinking about it, I'd just launch myself into the fray.

From what Steve has told me, I was also a bit of a ladies' man. I think it fits with what I know about myself that I would have been. He said I was handsome and charming, and the girls loved me – I don't have a lot of memories about it, but flashes of a succession of young ladies on my arm would certainly fit with that. I definitely remember that I _liked_ the young ladies; I also remember setting Steve up with a few of them, and I remember being baffled that they didn't see what I did in him. I mean, sure, he was little, and skinny, but why would they only care about that? He had a gigantic heart, and was far more chivalrous towards them than I ever was – and yet they seemed to like me more. And I think I liked them less for that, you know… Except Peggy, anyway. I liked her a lot. But that's because she looked at me and she looked at Steve and she chose him. And even if he was big imposing Captain America by then, and I couldn't hope to compete, she'd known him before he'd been turned into a giant lab rat, and I have the feeling she'd chosen him even then. And how could I possibly ever want to get in the way of that?

Which brings us to the war. I never wanted to fight in the war – I mentioned before that I didn't start fights because I was afraid of getting hurt? Well I didn't want to go to the war, because I was afraid of getting dead. I'd never understood why some men seemed to think it was so full of glory – when we were learning about the Civil War and the Great War, as it was then, it always struck me as so pointless and horrific, that we'd send young men off to die in the endless grinding meat machine that is war. And yet everyone else, including Steve, seemed to think there was no greater sacrifice than to die in the service of your country. And I couldn't ever say what I really thought to Steve – he would never have understood what I was trying to say. I wasn't unpatriotic, I cared about my country, but I guess I kind of felt that my country should look after me, and not get itself into situations where I had to go and fight and die for it.

So when the Second World War came along on the heels of 'the war to end all wars', I didn't want to go. I didn't want to enlist. I wanted to stay at home and not die, and look after Steve. Because let's face it, if I died in the war, so would he. There'd be no one to keep him safe, and keep him healthy, and he'd keep starting fights he couldn't win, and he'd get sick, and no one would look after him. Because, of course no-one in their right mind would let Steve go to war – with his mountain of health issues, not to mention the fact that being as his father was killed in the last war, he didn't have to go anyway, I thought he'd be safe. Steve, naturally, didn't see it that way - he saw no reason why he shouldn't go and die pointlessly – and tried repeatedly to enlist. Falsifying enlistment forms was illegal – but Steve didn't let that stop him. Still, I didn't dream he'd be successful, and if it hadn't been for Dr Erskine and his stupid super soldier serum, he wouldn't have been. And yes, Steve was the perfect choice for the serum – his goodness, decency and all the rest – but I would still rather they'd left him alone…

As for me, I was drafted. In 1943, they finally caught up with me. And I remember the way I felt when I opened that letter – like it was a death sentence. But there was no way out; I had to go. So I got my uniform, dressed up in it like I was proud of it, and shipped out for England, just like I was supposed to, and trying not to think about how I'd never see Steve again, and trying to forget the awful look on his face when he first saw me in my uniform, as he realised I was going somewhere he couldn't follow me. Idiot.

You don't get a lot of training before they send you off to the front. And it's very basic. More or less how to hold a gun and which end the bullets come out. OK, there's a little more to it than that. But that is kind of the main bit. Anyway, somewhere along the line, I turned out to be a good shot, so I got taken off for extra training; they wanted to turn me into a sniper. I was actually kind of relieved. As a sniper, the whole point is that you shoot from a distance – you're not expected to fight in the thick of things so much. And I was relieved that I might avoid the close quarters fighting that some of the others would have to face. I did mention that I'm not that brave, didn't I?

Then again, I guess it takes a special kind of brave to look down the sight of a rifle, aim at a man's head, and pull the trigger. And I found that I did have that in me. Like I said, I'm not a good man.

War – was awful. There are no words that can adequately describe just how awful it was. It was everything I thought it would be – horrifying, sickening, and all the rest. And a lot of the time, it didn't even feel like we were getting anywhere or gaining anything – men were dying, and being captured, for nothing. And then came HYDRA, and I was captured and taken to one of their bases. Most of us were put to work, building their hellish weapons, like no technology I'd ever seen before, and they worked us, literally, until we dropped dead. But for some of us, a worse fate was in store. We were taken off to solitary confinement, and then they – tortured us. They said it was scientific experimentation, and maybe it was, but it felt like torture to me. I remember enough of it to know that I don't want to remember any more of it… I don't know why they chose me – if it was just that I was strong, young and healthy, or if they knew I was Captain America's best friend (by then, they must have known that he'd been successfully created), or if I was simply just unlucky, but… My memories of that time are very fractured, but I don't think many of the others with me lasted that long – they died screaming in agony. I'm pretty sure I did a lot of screaming too, but for some reason, I didn't die. Perhaps Steve was able to rescue me before it went too far, but subsequent events would tend to suggest that for some reason, I was suitable subject material for whatever it was they were trying to achieve. Steve thinks they were trying to recreate the same serum that made him, and that to some extent, with me, they were successful. I survived a fall no man should have, I am a lot stronger than the average man, and not all of that is the metal arm, and my levels of endurance are a lot higher. I'm no Captain America, but it would seem I'm somewhere along that road.

But after that, things are a lot more hazy. My life as a Howling Commando consists mostly of small snatches of things; I remember very little of it. Maybe my programming into the Winter Soldier had already begun, and they were already trying to erase me. I don't remember falling from the train, I don't remember much about who found me, or what they did to me, except for the pain, and I really remember very little about the brainwashing, mind control, and conditioning they put me through, to turn me into their perfect weapon. Nor do I remember much about being the Winter Soldier. But I killed a lot of people, and I don't think that I was overly concerned about the collateral damage, and I can't help but feel that there should be a reckoning for that. I should pay for what I've done.

But first, this world, this time, needs Steve. I need Steve. So I'm going to go and find him and bring him back. And if I make it back, I'll face up to it then. And if I die in the attempt, then maybe that will be for the best. At least, now you know the truth. I'm not a good man.

Coney Island was dark and largely deserted just before dawn. No lights shone in the hotel, or out on the bay. There were only the sounds of the sea and a few animals. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a flash of orange light. In its aftermath, the silence seemed somehow deeper – the quiet of people keeping very very still, combined with the quiet of the animals who suddenly didn't want to draw attention to themselves.

Natasha's first reaction to appearing on the dark coast was relief. Tony's meddling with the time gem had – it seemed – worked. Certainly the shore looked the same, which suggested they were in the same place. Except this far in the past, there was no faint glow of electric lights anywhere, leaving everything eerily dark, except where the moon silvered the waves. She hadn't realised how used she was to having some light around. Her next reaction was to look around for Barnes. He was there, standing next to her, apparently unhurt, looking around himself as warily and curiously as she was herself.

There was so much that was different here that it was almost overwhelming, even where the changes were relatively subtle. There was the dark, and the quiet that was so much deeper than when they'd left, without the faint hum of traffic in the background. Even the smell was different – fresh sea and country smells without an underpinning gasoline note. But she couldn't spend too long consciously appreciating these changes, they needed to move off the island so they weren't noticed when everyone started waking up. And in this time, Coney Island was truly an island, and without a good change of clothes they needed to cross on the only bridge. Bracing herself, she reached out to touch Barnes on the arm to catch his attention – her training was too strong for her to make unnecessary noise in unknown territory. The touch seemed to startle him and he turned on her with surprising speed and quietness – an unsettling reminder of his recent training as an assassin. But he rapidly regained control of himself and held his hand out for the Time Gem. Somewhat reluctantly she handed it over, and he opened their Gladstone case and stowed the Time Gem safely in the secret compartment. She extracted the compass out of her reticule and pulled the vintage map up on the datapad. In the dark the pad's electronic glow looked otherworldly – a reminder of how out of place they were in this time.

Her dress wasn't best suited to walking in the dark through a wood, as the petticoats kept catching on branches, and rustling in the leaves. But at least there was no one around to hear. Her natural instinct was to keep as quiet as possible, so she didn't try and talk to Barnes. She also wasn't used to it being this hard to keep up with anyone on a mission. She really hoped they found Steve before she had to spend too long in this outfit as it would drive her mad to be so hampered for too long.

By the time they were approaching the bridge, she was more tired than a half an hour walk would suggest, and the first faint glow of dawn was lighting the creek. She could see the hotel just to the south of them, at this time one of very few buildings on the island. The bridge was a toll bridge – she had no idea how much a toll would be in these days, and no amount of research had been able to glean an answer, so she was hoping that the small handful of forged coins they had would be either enough, or not far too much. But before that, they needed to get into character – they were about to encounter their first 1840s native, and they needed to pass muster.

But as she turned to her partner – no, her husband – she saw him staring back across the island, as the light grew stronger. He had that unfocussed and slightly wild-eyed look in his eyes that he got when he was regaining memories. Inwardly, Natasha groaned. This really wasn't the time for this. But she remembered what Sam had told her – Bucky could get more than a little unstable at times like this, but that he could be grounded if you kept talking to him.

"Bucky?" He half turned his head to look at her, but then looked back out across the island, his eyes seemingly a million miles away.

"Bucky, what is it? What are you remembering? Tell me." She spoke softly, not just because her voice carried eerily across the nearly deserted island, but because she didn't want to spook him.

"I brought Steve here once, when we were kids. There used to be theme parks here, all kinds of rides and attractions. We didn't get to go there often – we didn't always have the money for the rides. But one time, I made him go on the Cyclone." There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he talked – it softened his features amazingly; Natasha couldn't find any trace of the Winter Soldier there. "It was the biggest rollercoaster there, and Steve, well, he didn't really have a head for heights back then. I bullied him onto it, bought the tickets before he could argue, and bundled him on – it's not like he could stop me back then." He lapsed into silence, lost in the memories.

"Did he enjoy it?" Natasha prompted.

"What?" He turned and looked at her, confused as he tried to process what she'd said. "Oh, no, he hated it." He suddenly grinned. "If I recall correctly, he threw up everywhere." He paused, then added thoughtfully, "Maybe we should have had the cotton candy _after_ we went on it."

In spite of herself, Natasha smiled. It was a sweet memory, from a much more innocent time, and the kind of memory he needed to get back. The ones that tied him to who he really was.

She stood beside him as he stared out across where, in a few decades, the very rollercoaster he'd just been remembering would be built. After a few moments of anxiously watching him for any sign of instability, she judged it was safe to continue their mission.

"Bucky?" He looked sharply at her, but in the way of someone who'd been startled out of a reverie, not the way of a cold, calculating assassin. He looked at her questioningly.

"We need to start being ancient now." Habit made her add a joke – that and the fact that for once, she felt comfortable enough around him to joke. "You should be used to that, old man". The wry look she received in return was her reward. In response, she threaded her arm through his, smiled demurely up at him and said, in a voice full of laughter, "Lead on, darling husband".

It was mid-morning by the time they arrived in the main town of Brooklyn. The countryside had been relatively easy to deal with, but the built up area was doing strange things to Bucky's mind. When he looked up, it was disconcertingly like the Brooklyn he knew – similarly shaped buildings, the same colours and many of the same landmarks. It wasn't quite the same; every so often, there was the odd jarring note, even when he'd thought something looked right. It was just like everything else in his mind, he reflected miserably, even the familiar was strange and somehow out of joint. Of course, looking around at head height, things were far more different. The men's clothes were broadly the same, but to see ladies walking around in big wide skirts was just… weird. The shops were all different too, and there were horses and carts in the roadway, not the cars and the trolleys he'd been used to. But somehow, when things were really odd, it was easier to cope with. Just like Times Square in 2015 had been easier to see than Brooklyn – it was just new, not something he should recognise but didn't quite. Suddenly he was tired of it all. Tired of everything being so difficult. Not just this mission, but everything. If only one thing, just one thing, could be easy.

Dispiritedly, he asked Natasha, "How on earth are we going to find him?"

Natasha was glad of the interruption. While she wasn't plagued by discordant memories and half recognised views, the sight of streets full of horses and urchins and people in dresses and suits was starting to give her a distinct sense of unreality. She couldn't quite believe that this was all real, and not a film set. She was half expecting to hear someone shout "Cut", and then all these people would suddenly stop and start behaving like normal 2015 people. But Bucky's question brought her back to the mission at hand. She locked her feelings down and considered the practicalities.

"We'll have to ask. Thankfully, by the standards of today, he's practically a giant. And he was wearing his uniform and shield. People should remember him."

Bucky smiled at that. It was only a little smile, but it was something, given the downbeat nature of his thoughts.

"By almost any standards he's pretty large."

"True. But especially here and now." She thought some more. It was important to narrow the search range. Even a small town such as Brooklyn was in the 1840s was far too large to find anyone quickly. And if there was one thing she really wanted, it was to get to the end of this mission.

"Are there any places, landmarks, that Steve might go to? Anywhere he'd be familiar with, that he might think we'd go?"

As with Natasha, the practical questions helped to ground Bucky.

"Some of the bigger buildings around were built to stand the test of time. Maybe Borough Hall?"

"We'll start round there then. We'll accost every clerk we see, and check in all the shops and stalls around there, asking after our friend."

Getting into the spirit of it, Bucky added, "Then we should try the Catholic Cathedral. Mrs Rogers was Catholic; they were there a lot. I can't see it from here, but I'm pretty sure it's old enough to be around today."

"Ok, we'll try there if we don't find anything at the Borough Hall." As they were walking towards the imposing building, a thought occurred to Natasha. "Where did you grow up?"

She spoke a little sharply, and out of the blue. Startled into an instinctive response, Bucky rattled off his childhood address as automatically as if she'd asked for his name, rank and number. Thinking of that reminded him of when he'd last given that information out – on a table in a HYDRA base, with Steve bending over him, come to save him. That was a dark tunnel of memories to be falling down, so it was with relief that he heard Natasha chuckle.

"Your mother trained you well, Barnes. We'll head to that area after the church. Chances are Steve would head that way. If that fails, we keep going, work our way out." She looked up at Barnes. His face looked drawn and slightly hopeless. "If we have to ask every person in this town, we'll find him," she said, reassuringly.

"It's just so hard," he complained.

"That's real life spy work, I'm afraid. It's not all martinis and fast cars." Bucky didn't look as if he'd got the reference, but he nodded and squared his shoulders to the task ahead. And that was all she needed.

It was hard work, and wondering what you'd say that would give you away only added to the tension. No-one they asked around Borough Hall had heard of a blond giant puppy dog called Steve Rogers, and they had the same luck at the Basilica, and everywhere in between. Eventually, Natasha suggested they stop and rest, as neither of them had eaten for hours. They took a room at a hotel in Brooklyn Heights, in preparation for failing for the rest of the day as well.

Before they set off for the afternoon, Natasha, with a few misgivings, suggested they split up and search separately; they'd cover a lot more ground that way. She wasn't sure it was a good idea to let Bucky loose on his own, especially as he was clearly struggling with his memories, but she also knew that time was ticking, and the sooner they found Steve, the less time he had to get into any trouble. She very delicately suggested he go in the opposite direction to where his old home had been, and decided she'd check that area out herself. They agreed to meet back at the hotel in a few hours time, and to try out Tony's comms whilst they searched.

Bucky watched Natasha as she disappeared into the crowd, envying how effortlessly she seemed to assimilate herself into whatever situation she found herself in. He too had been an assassin, and he had the stealthy side down pat, but he'd always stayed hidden in the shadows. Being out in the open like this, especially in his current state, made him feel vulnerable and exposed. And when he felt vulnerable and exposed, it made it easier for his belligerent alter ego to gain control of him. And he rather thought that a mass brawl on the streets of 1840s Brooklyn would be sure to mess with the timelines.

Such a Bucky-like thought brought him back to himself. Resolutely, he turned away from where he'd last seen Natasha, and strode off towards the Navy Yard docks. He and Steve had spent a lot of time there, watching the ships with his – with his sister? Bucky stopped dead in the street, causing no small amount of consternation to the people around him, as a rush of memories came back to him. His little sister, Emily. He'd been almost as single-mindedly protective of her as he had been of Steve, and she'd always had his back, too. Whenever their mother had torn a strip off him for getting into fights (without exception, because Steve had started them), and deprived him of his dinner, Emily had always saved half of hers for him. And she had loved those ships. She'd always been so excited to see them, and she'd always made him go and find out where they'd come from. And whenever he came back with the news that one of them was in from China, she'd been ridiculously excited. She'd always wanted to go to China. He wondered if she'd ever made it there.

"Are you alright, sir?" Bucky was pulled out of his memories abruptly, and immediately went on high alert, the Winter Soldier scanning the street for potential threats and pointing out several quick and efficient ways in which they could be removed. With a superhuman effort, Bucky brutally suppressed those instincts and turned slowly, and he hoped non-threateningly, towards the person who'd spoken, a newspaper-seller.

"Sorry, sir, I didn't mean to make you jump, but you just stopped suddenly, and you looked lost somehow. And then when you didn't move on, I thought I should check on you." The man gabbled on at him in a panicky fashion, as Bucky suppressed a sigh; clearly he hadn't been that non-threatening.

He held his hands up placatingly. "I'm fine. I just – I just haven't been here in a while, and it's amazing how much it's changed. It hit me quite hard, that's all. Er, thanks for trying to help." Before the man could reply, he rushed on, "Actually, I'm looking for a friend. His name is Steve, Steve Rogers. He's really tall, broad-shouldered, blond, might have been wearing strange clothes?"

"Sorry, sir. I don't think I've seen anyone like that. He sounds like someone you'd remember."

Bucky sighed. "Yes, he is that. Thanks, anyway." But as he turned away to walk on, his eye was caught by the newspapers on the stand – something about them had seemed wrong. He walked closer and inspected them more closely. And then he saw it, and his heart stopped. Grabbing one of the papers and throwing a whole handful of coins at the bemused seller, he stalked off in search of a quiet alleyway.

"Natasha? We have a serious problem."

"You've been gone for hours."

"It's been five years, Barnes. It took me a while to find someone who remembered him, ok?"

He sat up straight. "But you found someone?"

Natasha looked at his expectant face with trepidation. He wasn't going to like what she was going to say, and he wasn't exactly in the best frame of mind as it was. She'd had to go out searching by herself that afternoon – Barnes' discovery that they were several years off-target had sent him into a tailspin. She'd felt it was safer to leave him in their room rather than trust his self-control to hold whilst he fruitlessly searched Brooklyn for his friend, a Brooklyn just similar enough to the one he'd known to trigger memories and destabilise him further. He hadn't liked it much, but had been sensible enough to acquiesce in the end.

"I did, yes." She looked at him speculatively. "There's – well, there's good news and there's bad news."

"Please. Just say it." His metal hand was clenching and unclenching spasmodically by his side. Natasha eyed it nervously, not sure he even realised he was doing it.

"Good news – he's alive."

"He is? Where? Where is he?" The eagerness in Barnes' voice was painful to hear.

"Well, that's the bad news. He was here, well, somewhere in New York, but about six months ago, he decided to leave. And go to – Oregon."

He sat down in a rush; she could see him deflate as the hope seeped out of him.

"Oregon? Why in the hell would he do that?"

"Apparently, it's all the rage at the moment. All the cool kids are doing it."

Her attempt at levity sailed over his head – instead, he frowned at her, as if he was trying really hard to remember something. Then his brow cleared.

"The pioneers." He frowned again. "He's gone to be a pioneer? Why? How does he expect us to find him if he heads off to the other end of the country?'

"Well, it's been five years. Maybe he thinks we're not coming for him."

"Of course we'd come for him! He knows that!" His metal fist came crashing down suddenly on the table by the bed. Splinters of wood exploded everywhere, and Natasha involuntarily jumped back.

Barnes looked up at her, and she could see the menace swirling in his eyes. Instinctively, she sized up the windows and doors, looking for her escape route. But when he spoke again, his tone was broken.

"How could he think I'd leave him like that?"

Looking back at him, slightly unwillingly, all she could see was a lost little boy. She was surprised that Bucky was keeping control of himself so well – it wasn't like any of their discoveries so far had been good news at all. And she still had one more to reveal.

"There's one more thing – I – I don't know whether it's good or bad news." Barnes looked up at her, still and alert once more. "Steve went to Oregon with someone." She swallowed. "With his wife."

Bucky could only stare at her, too stunned to speak. His wife? That made absolutely no sense. He was from the future, he knew that, he must surely realise that he could put the future into serious jeopardy if he got too entangled here and started changing things. Fine, Steve had never loved the science fiction stories that Bucky hadn't been able to get enough of, but he was surely bright enough to grasp that he shouldn't interfere with things here. And a wife? Steve had got married and he hadn't been there? A huge pang of grief suddenly overwhelmed him. He should have been there. How could Steve have done such a thing without him?

Natasha meanwhile was thinking through the other implications of Steve's actions. Not one to give much thought to the space-time continuum, her mind was given over to more practical considerations – Steve's wife complicated things. Really complicated them. Getting to Oregon – well, Independence, Missouri, technically – he'd still be there right now – was not an insurmountable problem, even in this time, finding Steve there was also not outside the bounds of possibility. But he was hardly going to leave a wife behind to go back to his own time. And the idea of bringing some backward, closeted little 1840s madam into the bright, shiny 21st century – Natasha snorted with amusement at the thought. Barnes' immediately offended expression wiped the smirk off her face, and forced her to think practically. No need to worry about that bridge until they came to cross it.

"I guess we need to find out the fastest way to Independence, Missouri. See if we can catch up with him before he sets off in search of his manifest destiny."

And then they'd see about getting him back where he belonged. Assuming of course that Tony's instructions on 'correct' use of the Time Gem didn't send them hurtling into the 22nd century…


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks, one train trip, one canal boat trip, and more time on a steamboat in the Great Lakes than she'd ever wished to experience, Natasha was feeling despondent. They'd been in Independence nearly a week, and as yet, hadn't found hide nor hair of Steve. Barnes' surprisingly enterprising efforts had got them to Independence in a very short space of time, considering that this was a country which was only just beginning to build railroads, and still considered the horse and cart as _de rigueur_ for transporting oneself around. It was a shame that most of their travel time had been spent on a boat in the freezing cold January air of the Great Lakes – even with her voluminous layers of petticoats, and her Russian heritage, Natasha had been  cold. Watching ice sliding by as they sailed, she'd been glad that they'd arrived when they did. A couple of weeks later, and according to Tony's datapad, the lakes could have been almost completely frozen over and no travel would have been possible. Shivering for a week or two seemed preferable to being stranded far from civilisation, waiting two months for the ice to melt. Barnes had barely seemed to feel the cold – she hadn't been able to tell whether this was something to do with whatever HYDRA and Zola had done to him, or just that he was mired too deep in misery to notice how cold he was – but he'd spent a lot of time on the ship's deck, staring miserably into the water. That had been preferable to the times when he worked himself up into a lather of blame over 'abandoning' Steve for five years. Going over and over all the arguments and round and round in circles in increasingly heated debates had been exasperating, but at least it had kept her warm.

Now they were in Independence, his mood had – not quite improved, but the possibility of being able to act had certainly had an effect. It was dull work, trawling around the stores, the hotels, the livestock sellers, but it was something to do. It was just a shame that each day had ended the same, with them (or at least her) exhausted and despondent about not finding any trace of Steve. Finally, they'd turned their attention to the huge camps just outside Independence, where the wagon trains were gathering in anticipation of the great migration, due to start in March. Most of the émigrés were actually camping with their wagons, which did make sense – after all, all of their worldly possessions were in those wagons; it would be lunacy to leave them unguarded, not to mention cheaper than taking rooms in one of the vastly overpriced hotels in town. Deep down, Natasha had always known that if they were going to find Steve anywhere, it would be in the camps, but it had taken her a while to build up to it. They were huge, kind of dirty, and the smell of all those animals and unwashed bodies was ripe, to say the least. Trying hard not to think about what her skirts might be dragging in, not for the last time she wondered what on earth would possess someone to leave behind a comfortable home to walk – yes, walk! – all the way to an undeveloped wilderness. Fine, some people might not have had much of a choice – if they wanted any kind of life, they were probably better off in Oregon than in a filthy slum in New York or Chicago – but there were people here who clearly weren't in that position. They obviously had more money than sense…

As she walked, Barnes trailing along somewhat disconsolately in her wake, she looked out for people who looked like they might be in charge of a wagon train – if they couldn't find Steve, perhaps they could find his train leader. That would at least narrow down their search range. But there seemed to be an abundance of them, and not one of them that she asked seemed to know Steve. It was after asking seemingly the hundredth of them that she suddenly became aware that Bucky wasn't beside her anymore. Looking around for him, trying to ignore the panic building inside her, she suddenly saw his purposeful form heading straight for a tall, blond – Steve! He'd found him!

Trying to follow him as fast as she could, hampered by skirts, a sudden rash of small children and dogs, and having to dodge round other people, she was still a hundred yards or so away when Bucky got to Steve. She could only watch as he practically lifted Steve off the ground in a bear hug, and she swore he would have swung him around if there'd been room. She smiled at the touching reunion, but the smile only touched her lips for a second, as it became increasingly clear that something was dreadfully wrong. Bucky had released Steve and stepped back from him – even though she could only see his back, she could sense the distress radiating off him in waves. Steve's utterly bewildered expression only added to her sense that she had to be over there now. She couldn't hear a word of the conversation between them, but could see Steve's wary, guarded face, and as she approached, her angle changed and she could see the pleading, almost terrified look on Bucky's. He was losing it, and if she didn't get to him and do something to calm him down, there was going to be trouble.

"I had an accident a few years ago. I… I lost my memory. I'm sorry, but I don't remember you." Steve sounded genuinely sorry as he said it – he might not remember Bucky, but he was obviously well aware of his distress. As Natasha finally reached them, he turned to look questioningly at her, and she saw the same expression that had upset Bucky so much – there wasn't a trace of recognition in Steve's eyes. Swallowing hard, she turned her attention to Bucky. He was looking lost, and his breathing was heavy, and laboured. She couldn't yet see any incipient signs of violence, but that didn't mean they weren't close. Natasha wasn't one for much physical contact; to her it spoke of weakness, but she rather felt that Bucky needed it. So, pushing down her natural distaste for touchy-feely stuff, and her fear of the unstable man in front of her, she reached out and put her hand gently on his arm, his real arm, and squeezed gently. He turned to her, the anguish evident in his eyes to the extent that even Natasha Romanov's cold, deadened heart hurt for him.

"You're ok, Bucky. I'm here – you're going to be fine." She spoke softly, trying to pitch her voice so that Steve wouldn't hear. She didn't want him to know just how much of a wreck Bucky was; if they were going to get his memories back, they needed to be able to interact with him. Steve with all his memories intact would never turn his back on someone in Bucky's condition, but Steve without them – well, who knew what he'd turn out to be like.

"I'm not." There was a rising edge of panic in Bucky's voice, and Natasha knew she needed to get him out of there as soon as she could.

"You are, Bucky. You're stronger than this. You can do this. He needs you. He needs you to be strong for him."

That seemed to have the desired effect. Bucky straightened, and resolution appeared in his eyes. Natasha breathed an inward sigh of relief. As she turned back to Steve, she felt Bucky shift his arm beside her. She started to let go, but realised with a start that he'd slid his hand into hers, and was holding on quite tightly. It felt horribly awkward to her, but she felt that if he really needed that support, then she'd endure it for his sake. Trying to put it out of her mind, she addressed Steve.

"You really don't remember either of us, do you?"

"I knew you too?" She nodded.

"No, I'm sorry, I honestly don't. But it's good that you're here. I don't know anything about who I was – maybe you can help with that."

Natasha kept a remarkably impressive poker face as she reflected on how most of what she'd tell him would be lies. She couldn't exactly tell him the truth, that he was from the future – in his amnesiac state, he'd be unable to believe it, and would think she was insane. For now, she decided to deflect the question until later – she needed time to construct their history. She'd never envisaged that this could be a scenario they'd face, so she hadn't prepared anything but the most cursory cover story. It wouldn't hold up to any serious scrutiny.

"I think Bucky is in a better position to help you out with that. You were childhood friends; I came along later."

Steve looked over at Bucky, but seemed to realise that he wasn't in any fit state to be answering questions. Natasha felt a brief flicker of annoyance at Steve for expecting anything different – finding out your best friend no longer remembered you was going to be a shock under any circumstances. Just because he didn't know Bucky's circumstances were actually far, far worse than most, didn't mean he couldn't show a little understanding.

"We've been looking for you for five years, Steve. You can't really expect him not to be upset that this has happened now we've finally found you." Bucky's grip on her hand was becoming painful. She tried surreptitiously to flex her fingers, hoping he'd get the hint, but other than a very slight relieving of pressure, there wasn't much.

"Five years? That long?"

"Well, when you didn't come back from your business in New York when we expected, of course we came to look for you. But by then, you seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. And New York's a big place – it's not exactly the kind of place you can search in an afternoon." Natasha's lies were flawless, but she was trying to keep them as vague as possible. She needed time to sort out their shared history, but Steve obviously wanted answers right now. She couldn't blame him for that, but she was going to have to leave him disappointed.

"When no-one came to look for me, I guess I just assumed that I didn't have any friends or family. Or they weren't in a position to know there was a problem."

Bucky's grip became finger-breakingly strong at that comment. Natasha gave him a fierce look, which took a moment to get through. His grip receded back to being merely painful.

"I can see why you might have thought that," she responded. "But we've looked for you ever since."

As Steve opened his mouth to reply, a voice called his name. He turned to the source of the sound, a smile beginning to break over his face, as a young woman came around the corner of the wagon. Natasha could only assume that this was his wife, a fact that was confirmed as she came up to him and ducked under his arm, snuggling into his side. Natasha held back a smile – there was a definite resemblance to Steve's last and only known love, Peggy.

From the safety of Steve's arms, his wife turned to look curiously at them. Natasha did her best to smile in a friendly fashion at the woman who she knew was going to cause them such a headache, not least as she knew that Bucky wasn't going to be much help. His grip was back to bone-crunching.

"Grace, these are my friends from the past. They've finally caught up with me." There was genuine excitement in Steve's voice, which reassured Natasha. At least their slightly suspect behaviour hadn't put him off.

"Oh, how wonderful, Steve! Do you – do you remember them?"

"No." The frustration was evident in his voice. "Not at all. But maybe talking to them will help shake something loose."

"I'm sure it will." Grace's tone was both optimistic and reassuring. "Are you going to introduce me?"

"Oh, yes. Of course. This is – erm – Bucky? Bucky Barnes. He's my best friend. Apparently. And this is my wife, Grace."

Thank the Lord that there was still some of the old Bucky Barnes in there. He shook off some of his despondency and even more wonderfully, he let go of her hand to shake Grace's.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Yes, there it was – the 1940s charm. He even managed to conjure a half smile out of somewhere, even if it didn't quite make it to his eyes. Admittedly, almost as soon as he'd let go of her hand, the shutters clattered down again, but there was someone in there trying to hold on to normality.

"I'm pleased to meet you too – Bucky." The name clearly sounded strange to her, and Natasha could see why – it didn't entirely fit with the dark, big, brooding presence next to her. But she elected to ignore it, and turned expectantly to Natasha.

Smiling her biggest smile, Natasha stepped forward and took Grace's hand, trying not to wince as she did so. "I'm Natalie." She was aware that Bucky had looked across at her a little quizzically, but thankfully he didn't say anything. 'Natasha' was too Russian a name to belong on a young New York American. Natalie, which was technically almost her actual name, was much more acceptable. As the silence stretched a little, she added, "Also Barnes."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Natalie. I'm so glad you've found Steve after all this time." Natasha couldn't help but wonder if there was a slight undertone of accusation in that statement. It had been delivered innocuously enough, but one could never tell. She felt Bucky shift on his feet beside her – no need to ask how he'd taken it. She needed to shut this down, and get him somewhere where he could let out what he was feeling.

"It's taken a while, but we never gave up looking. After all, Steve's been Bucky's best friend since they were little – they meant the world to each other. How could he possibly give up on him?" And fine, so maybe that was a little cruel on Steve, and even Grace, but she felt bad for Bucky, and that was making her feel strangely protective. She suppressed a sigh – she was actually turning into Steve.

Her words had had the desired effect. Steve looked suddenly guilty, and Grace looked sad, but not chastened; Natasha had been overthinking things again.

"Perhaps," Grace sounded almost tentative, "Perhaps you could both come and have dinner with us this evening? I'm sure that there must be so much for you all to talk about."

Natasha smiled at her gratefully. Here was her excuse to get away, at least for now. "That would be lovely. Thank you very much. We'd be delighted to."

"Well, this is our wagon. If you come back just before sundown, then I'll make sure dinner's ready for then. It might not be quite as fine as you're used to," – Natasha was utterly amazed at how this woman could deliver such barbed comments without seeming to realise what she was doing – "but Steve thinks I'm a good cook, so hopefully it won't be too bad."

Or maybe it was just modesty, Natasha reminded herself. She had to stop assuming everyone in this time was a double agent, because they really weren't.

"We'll be there."

As Natasha led Bucky away, having once again taken his hand – it didn't hurt to further cement their relationship in the minds of others – she reflected that all things considered, that could have gone a lot worse. Taking a sideways glance at her companion's face, she had a feeling that it was about to get a lot worse…

3rd February, 1848

Best to begin at the point where this day differed from all the others we've had in this wagon camp. I was just finishing clearing away our lunch when I noticed Steve was talking to a couple. I'm not sure what made me take notice. It's silly given how strong and tall he is, but I'm always so protective of him. He can be so vulnerable at times… Anyway, I went over to see what was going on and to look after him.

Of the two people he was talking to, it was the man who held my attention. His name – Bucky Barnes – sounded cheery and friendly, which was in stark contrast to the way he was coming across. He's a big man, though not as big as my Steve, and very dark and brooding looking. And also, perhaps more importantly in this case, he was clearly in some sort of pain or mental crisis. Not only did it show in his expression, it was practically radiating off him in waves.

It didn't take me long to find out what had caused this – Steve told me these were friends from his old life and that in fact, Mr Barnes was – or had been? – his best friend. But despite that, he didn't remember them. I could readily understand how that would distress Mr Barnes – though his reaction was perhaps a little extreme. However, my primary concern was Steve. He's such a kind and gentle person, I knew that causing someone that kind of agony would be bound to be hurting him almost as badly. Casting a swift glance up at him, I could see that that was indeed the case. And married with that pain I thought I could see frustration in his face. Not surprising – his lack of ability to remember has always been a source of frustration – it's a big part of why we're moving West, in fact.

Despite these painful undercurrents, I was still delighted for Steve. He's been alone for so long, and I know it hurt him that no-one ever came asking for him. Well, now they have! Admittedly, their timing isn't great. I mean, maybe not waiting until he's given up and made peace with his lack of a past – and decided to start afresh on the other side of the continent – would have been better…

But still. Steve needs friends and he does really need to know about himself. And so having friends can only be good in the long term. You never know, given time with them, some of his memories will come back. Maybe they can help him make sense of some of his nightmares…

Both Mrs Barnes and I realised that our husbands were getting quite worked up, and in one of those unspoken agreements, decided that we'd take a break to calm them down. I invited them back for dinner, and once they'd walked off I applied myself to the task of cheering Steve up.

It was relatively straightforward, though not easy, to persuade him that he wasn't responsible for upsetting Mr Barnes. He didn't deliberately lose his memories, after all. And at least there was something he could do to make it better, even if it was only talking to him and becoming his friend again.

On the subject of his own frustration, I was a bit less successful. Steve tried everything to try and get his memories back – he wrote down his dreams, he got back in the weird costume he was in when we found him. Nothing. But we kept telling him not to give up, and we all hoped that someone would turn up and in the process bring it all back. Well, now they have and from what Steve said, his brain refused to cooperate and remained firmly locked down. Though, given what's happened since, maybe it has given in a little. Certainly something's changed…

Anyway, I eventually persuaded him that it was alright for it not to happen straight away and that he had to give it time. Given these distractions, dinner wasn't quite up to my usual standards, which annoyed me. Given that these are clearly Steve's closest friends, it's like meeting his family for the first time and I'm desperate to make a good impression. After all, they don't know me at all, and who knows whether they approve. And it's important to me that they do! I couldn't bear to cause Steve any more pain or trouble. And his friends not liking me would definitely do that.

Which makes it all the more upsetting that dinner isn't going to go down as one of my greatest successes. The stew itself was a bit bland, I was nervous, Steve was trying to suck in every scrap of information that came his way and the Barneses – well, they were on edge too. The Mr Barnes of this morning – dark, silent and anguished – was present, but there was also, at times, a different Mr Barnes. When he relaxed, he was charming with a lovely smile and a teasing sense of humour. I could imagine him being friends with Steve when he showed that side of his personality, and I hope that as he gets used to the situation we get to see more of it. But he was also constantly just stopping himself from saying things, with a guilty glance at his wife. I wonder what he's so scared of letting slip?

His wife was harder to read. Superficially, she was very friendly and open, and she shared some charming anecdotes about Steve when he was younger. But I got a very strong impression that she didn't like me. No reason I can put my finger on, but I can't shake the feeling even so. Which is such a huge disappointment! I so wanted to make a good impression!

After they left, I asked Steve if any of their stories or mannerisms had triggered anything. He said no, but something in the way he shook his head as if trying to dislodge a fly made me wonder if perhaps something wasn't happening after all. I didn't push it, but kept him very busy helping me clear up until we went to bed.

Exhausted by the day's events, we both fell asleep fairly quickly. At some point in the night, I was woken by Steve muttering in my ear. And then, by the crushing grip he had around my chest. It started just being his arm flung over me, which was bad enough given how heavy his arms are. But as his nightmare continued he increased his grip more and more, clinging to me, whilst clearly being in distress. I tried calling to him, and as his grip strengthened even further, kicking him. It only made him hold tighter until I could barely breathe, and I thought I heard something crack… Eventually, a strong scratch by my flailing arm woke him and he let me go. Immediately, a quite excruciating agony blossomed across my ribcage. He'd definitely damaged me! I tried to control my reactions though, to calm Steve. He was clammy and still half in the grip of his nightmare. They haven't been this bad since the first few months since we knew him. He told me that he'd been trying to stop someone falling, someone who it was incredibly important didn't fall. But they fell from the train anyway, down, down the mountain.

It can't be a real memory; there aren't trains in mountains. But it is something to do with his past because as he fell back asleep, exhausted, he muttered, almost under his breath, that Bucky mustn't fall…

I was glad he could sleep, but my bruised (at least) ribs meant I couldn't. Eventually, I got up and decided to come and write in my diary as a distraction from the pain. And to wonder just what's going on in my poor husband's mind… And what went on in his past that causes such very bad dreams…

It turned out that having a possibly cracked rib made even the simplest of things hurt. And Grace was not one for only doing the simple things, anyway. She'd always felt it was faintly ridiculous that women were considered incapable of doing anything involving any bit of strength, when so much of what was considered women's work was hard and strenuous. So why not add lifting and carrying and things like that to the list of things they could do? But after causing herself no small amount of agony trying to lift pots down from the wagon and bending down to light a fire, she was beginning to realise that she might have a bit of a problem. She really didn't want Steve to know how badly he'd hurt her – he hadn't meant to, but he'd be so guilty about it anyway – and she wanted to spare him that if she could. However, if she couldn't do the things she usually did without gasping or wincing, her incredibly perceptive husband wouldn't take very long to figure out something was wrong with her, and put all the necessary facts together to realise why. She resolved to try harder not to show it, and set out to chop the bacon for their breakfast, steadfastly ignoring the sharp stabs of pain every time she pressed down on the knife.

"Hello, Grace."

The voice behind her made her jump, and pain bloomed across her body. Ruthlessly, she suppressed the whimper rising on her lips, and settled for wincing until the pain subsided before turning round to greet her visitor.

"Hello, Jessie. You're up early."

"I'm always up this early. Breakfast has to be made, and my companions aren't anywhere near as pleasant as yours…"

Grace could see the huge pail of water Jessie had put down by her feet. Steve usually collected their water – it wasn't that Grace couldn't, but more that Steve could carry a whole lot more than she could, and in one trip, could collect what would take her at least four. Grace had never understood why Jessie's brothers couldn't do the same for her. Well, she supposed she could – she'd only met one of them briefly, and he was, to put it mildly, a brute. Assuming they were all like that, it made perfect sense that none of them helped Jessie, yet still expected her to run around after them all the time.

"But anyway," Jessie continued brightly, "you're not normally up at this time. Usually when I come past, the Rogers wagon is still sleeping soundly. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Grace replied breezily, perhaps a little too quickly and a little too firmly. "I just woke up early and decided to make the most of it."

Jessie's eyes narrowed a little, but before she could say anything, Grace rushed on. "To be quite honest, I was finding it a little hard to sleep. Two of Steve's friends from his mysterious past arrived yesterday, and I guess the excitement got to me a bit."

Jessie, just for a moment, looked stunned, but then a huge smile wreathed her face. "But that's wonderful! He's been hoping for that for so long, hasn't he? Did he remember them?"

"No, unfortunately not. We spent quite a lot of time with them yesterday, but nothing really seemed to come back to him." Grace mentioned nothing about Steve's nightmare, or the last thing she'd heard him mutter before he'd finally dropped back off into sleep – it didn't seem appropriate.

"That's a shame," replied Jessie, looking disappointed. "Well, maybe time will help with that. What are they like?"

Grace frowned. "Slightly strange, if I'm completely honest. Mr-" she broke off with a gasp as her intake of breath to speak caused her rib to stab at her again.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Jessie, a little suspiciously.

"I'm fine," repeated Grace crossly. But even that emphasis was enough to set off the pain again, and she couldn't stop from wincing.

"Really," said Jessie, flatly. She stepped towards Grace. "So if I did this, say," – poking her in the ribs – "it wouldn't hurt at all?"

But of course, the gasp and whimper that had escaped Grace told their own story. "What happened?" asked Jessie, crossly.

"Nothing!" answered Grace. "I just – I just – I had an accident yesterday and hurt myself a bit, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" repeated Jessie, incredulously. "You're clearly in a lot of pain, and should probably call a doctor!" After a few seconds' glaring brought no change in Grace's demeanour, Jessie turned on her heel. "Fine, I'll go and fetch one then."

"No, Jessie, you can't!" hissed Grace, jumping after her and grabbing her arm, causing another whimper. Jessie turned back angrily to face her, but before she could say something, Grace continued hurriedly, "Look, Steve had a nightmare last night, alright? Sometimes he has them – I think they're to do with his past memories. And he was dreaming about someone falling and holding onto them to try to stop them, only he was actually holding onto me, and – and he held onto me so tightly that he bruised my ribs. It's just bruising – it'll be fine in a few days."

"I don't think it's just bruising, Grace, I think you might have a cracked rib. And you need a doctor, and I'm fairly sure Steve would say the same thing!"

"But he mustn't know!" The panic rose in Grace's voice. "Jessie, he's got so much else to deal with, and he's so upset that he doesn't remember his friends, the last thing he needs is this!"

"Grace, he needs to know! And you still need a doctor!"

"But it's not his fault! He didn't mean to do it – he was asleep! How can him knowing change anything?"

"It can stop him doing it again for one thing!" retorted Jessie. "Look, Grace, I understand that you don't want to hurt him, but he would want to know. The last thing he would want is for you to keep something like this from him. In fact, no, the last thing he would want is for it to mean you didn't get the help you need. So I'm going to get a doctor." She pulled her arm, surprisingly gently, from Grace's grasp, and stormed off, leaving Grace staring despairingly after her. How was she going to keep it from Steve now?

Steve found out about it about half an hour later, when he was disturbed by the sound of a fairly heated exchange between Grace and the doctor that Jessie had fetched to treat her. The doctor was appalled that she'd thought she could get by without any medical attention, and was telling her at some length how wrong she was. Her flippant, snippy answers were only making him crosser and more emphatic, and it wasn't long before Steve came to find out what all the commotion was about. He, too, was appalled by Grace's actions, and after paying the doctor and sending him on his way, he was not shy in letting her know that. At some point early on in the flaming row that ensued, Jessie slipped off back to her wagon, deciding that it was wildly inappropriate for her to be listening in. The row was fairly brief, but painful, being as both protagonists were so busy worrying about the other's pain and ignoring their own, that they weren't really listening to each other. Eventually, they came to a stalemate of sorts, with Steve promising not to go and sleep elsewhere every night if, and only if, Grace promised to take more drastic steps to wake him up if he ever had another nightmare. Neither one was really satisfied, but as they both simultaneously realised that they were hurting the other with their own stubbornness, they both instantly backed down to save the other more pain.

It was apparent that Grace wasn't going to be able to accompany Steve when he showed his friends around Independence later that day; it was equally apparent that if left on her own, she would behave as if nothing was wrong with her, and Steve would return to find the wagon spotless, all manner of stews and preserves and breads prepared and put away, and a wife lying on the floor, passed out from the pain. To avoid this, he enlisted Jessie's help to keep an eye on her whilst he was gone, and promised her dinner as recompense for all the grief she'd doubtless suffer from Grace. Jessie was only too happy to help; a day spent with Grace making catty comments at her was still infinitely preferable to spending it with her brothers. Once she'd finished making them their breakfast, and clearing up after them, she set forth with a basket of mending and headed back to the Rogers wagon.

Steve did his best to make Independence interesting, but in actual fact, there wasn't a great deal to it. There was Main Street, there were the general stores, the livestock pens, and a few tradesmen (carpenters, wheelwrights and the like), the hotel they were staying at, where they'd stopped to have lunch, and the tavern, which Steve had felt it was inappropriate to take a lady into. Natasha had seemed a trifle disappointed – Bucky imagined she was thinking longingly of a stiff drink. It was true that nothing had gone precisely right since they'd turned up in the past, but Bucky found that in some ways, he was coping better than Natasha. In other ways, emphatically not – finding Steve only to realise he didn't remember him had not been easy to take. Made even worse when he'd woken up in the middle of the night before with the thought that he now knew exactly how Steve must have felt on that bridge, looking into the blank expression of his best friend. He'd ended up going for a good long walk, found a convenient wood, and had broken a few trees. Natasha hadn't said anything when he returned, but she'd clearly been relieved that he'd broken trees, and not her. That had hurt a little – Bucky was relatively certain that he had a handle on things now; he wouldn't say he was stable, and it wasn't that he couldn't be set off, but he thought it would take a fair amount of provocation for him to really lose it to the extent that he'd try taking out a person, and not a (mostly) inanimate object. In many ways, having found Steve, even if he did have amnesia, had settled him a lot. He was no longer lost in the wilds of 1848; he was nearby, and Bucky could keep an eye on him again. That was, for now, enough to keep him sane.

Natasha had spent a lot of yesterday when they hadn't been Steve and Grace's guests constructing their backstory, and by extension, Steve's. She'd tried, where she could, to keep as much to the truth as possible, but there were certain aspects she just couldn't fit in. Much of his and Steve's childhood remained intact; it just relied on Bucky remembering it, but their adult lives were substantially different. Also, they had to be careful not to dwell too much on Steve's lack of stature as a child – a 'massive growth spurt' during adolescence could only take you so far. So yes, Bucky had been the older, bigger one, and Steve had still been the harbinger of justice despite his lack of size, and Bucky had constantly been getting him out of fights, but with a certain degree of vagueness wound into it. Which worked well, considering there were still huge holes in Bucky's memories of that time.

But it was proving difficult for Bucky to stick to it. He kept wanting to make references to things that would be anachronisms – he'd nearly told Steve that he was named for the President, James Buchanan, totally forgetting that at this point in time, his namesake hadn't yet been President, and wouldn't be for a few more years. Natasha was very handy with her elbows, to an almost irritating degree, but it was more irritating that he needed it. And he was developing a nice shading of bruises down his left side from the number of times she'd elbowed him. He'd also called her 'Natasha' a couple of times – she'd quickly explained that it was just Bucky's pet name for her, which Steve had accepted straightforwardly enough – but the look Natasha had given him could have stripped paint. He really wasn't cut out to be a spy – Bucky was too straightforward, and the Winter Soldier too direct. Lying didn't come easily to either of them; one was too honest, the other didn't see the point. But equally, Natasha couldn't do all the talking, when he was the one who'd known Steve since they were little. At least, not without making him look like a henpecked husband – and whilst Natasha would no doubt like it that way, he didn't think Steve with no memories would think much of him for it. He had to get better at this.

Luckily, Steve seemed to be so desperately happy to have people from his past back in his life, that he was willing to overlook their many idiosyncrasies, and take them at face value. He rather thought Grace wasn't so convinced by them – she'd obviously picked up on Natasha's antipathy for her (which he had to say was unfair – it wasn't her fault that Steve had lost his memories, fallen in love with her and married her; well, some of it sort of was, he supposed, but importantly, she didn't know that it was a bad idea because Steve was actually from the future, did she?), and whilst he didn't feel the same antipathy, he was disappointed not to have been there when Steve met her, fell in love with her and married her. And she'd picked up on that too, and whilst she clearly felt bad about it, she was also a bit suspicious of them and their motives. All in all, they weren't doing well with Steve's wife.

And then there was their friend, Jessie, who'd they'd met just that morning. Bucky had been able to tell from Natasha's expression that she thought she was HYDRA, which seemed a little ridiculous. Yes, she had perhaps stood and stared at him a little longer than was strictly polite, but, without being too cocky about it, he'd just thought she'd been admiring him. The way she'd then looked across at Natasha, who was, after all, ostensibly his wife, and flushed to the roots of her pretty red hair, looking utterly mortified, surely proved that? He'd rather thought Grace had thought the same; she'd been looking at her friend's reaction faintly disapprovingly, and with some justification, he supposed – he was allegedly a married man. On the other hand, Natasha's thunderous look would presumably have put paid to any ideas she might have been entertaining – she'd been every inch the angry, possessive wife. Which was a bit of a shame – Bucky caught himself suddenly. It had been a very long time since he'd had any thoughts like that…

Steve had been saying something whilst he'd been thinking, and he hadn't caught it.

"I'm sorry? What did you say?" He caught Natasha's eye as he spoke; she raised an eyebrow pointedly at him, but was clearly trying to hide a smile – somehow, he had the feeling that she'd known exactly where his thoughts had been.

"I said that's about all Independence has to offer. Unless you want to go wandering around the wagon camps, but I wouldn't recommend it – people can be a bit unfriendly to strangers."

"I don't think there's any need to provoke them, then," replied Natasha breezily. "Besides, we saw them yesterday; once you've seen one wagon camp, you've seen them all." There was a short pause, and then she continued, "It's probably a little early for us to be going back with you – perhaps we should see you later on for dinner? We wouldn't want to impose on Grace, not with her injury and all."

With something distressingly akin to relief in his voice, Steve agreed. It was obvious he wanted to be back with his ailing wife, and just as obvious that he wanted to be away from them for a while. Despite all their attempts, he hadn't shown any signs of remembering anything. Whilst he hadn't given too many details of how Grace had ended up injured, Bucky had gathered that it was something to do with a nightmare of Steve's. He'd desperately wanted to ask about it, in case it was something they could shed light on, but it hadn't felt right to ask. And as Steve had never brought it up, he'd clearly not wanted to talk about it either. He sighed. This was not proving to be easy…


	4. Chapter 4

It was a couple of hours later – they were just about to set off for dinner with the Rogerses again. The intervening time had not been easy for Bucky. He'd fairly mildly suggested that Natasha should stop elbowing him quite so hard when he was about to say something stupid, because funnily enough it made the Winter Soldier side of him antsy, only for her to give him an extended lecture on how important it was that he learned his backstory and stuck to it, and didn't keep saying stupid things. And yes, that was all true, and he was well aware of it, but he thought her assertion that the only way he was going to learn was through pain was a bit much. Perhaps that was how she'd been trained; possibly, not that he remembered, it was even how he'd been trained, but it didn't work on him now. It just made him cross, and then he had to control the anger, and then he'd totally forget what he was saying anyway, and then he looked like even more of an idiot. With some asperity, he pointed out that being as his reaction to pain was to lash out and hit something, he didn't see how that would help. He wasn't saying he didn't want her to stop him, he was just pointing out that he was a highly trained assassin, with reflexes to rival hers – a gentle nudge would be enough. And wouldn't endanger anyone. She looked deeply unconvinced, but agreed, grudgingly, that she'd give it a try. But he had to start thinking more.

He'd have been happy enough to agree to that, but Natasha had more to say on the subject of not just parroting out the story, but also living it, which meant 'remembering he was a married man'.

"Yeah, that might be easier if I didn't think you were going to cut my hand off if I touched you."

Natasha snorted in response. "Bucky, I'm a spy. I spend my entire life pretending to be all kinds of things that I'm not. Pretending to be in love with you is hardly the biggest challenge I've ever faced. So go ahead, hold my hand, put your arm around me, you can even kiss me, should you feel the need. But you have to make people believe you're in love with me, or our cover falls down."

Bucky grimaced. "That's hard, Natasha! No offence, you're a beautiful dame-" he stopped, suddenly a little apprehensive, but recovered by grinning his cheesiest 1940s charming grin at her, "but I just don't feel anything like that for you."

"Somehow I will survive that mortal insult… I'm not asking you to actually feel any of it, you just have to pretend you do. There is a difference."

"I just – I'm not – I don't-"

"Wow, Bucky, Steve always said you were such a hit with the ladies. Now I can see why."

"Very funny, Romanoff."

"Look, it's just pretending, Bucky, it's not that hard." She grinned slyly at him, before adding, with a coquettish look, "If it helps, you can always pretend I'm that red-headed charmer you seem so taken with."

The sarcastic smile she received in return spoke volumes.

"Well, it's better than actually pursuing that line of inquiry," she continued. "Everyone here thinks you are a married man, Bucky, and if you start chasing after other young ladies, it will cause a scandal."

"I'm not totally stupid," he gritted out.

"Besides, I have to question your taste, Barnes. She's clearly HYDRA. You can't let a pretty face stop you from seeing the obvious."

"It's far from obvious to me. She seems like a normal, everyday 1840s girl." He grinned. "I can't help it if she was overwhelmed by my stunning good looks."

An eloquent raise of Natasha's eyebrow was the only response he got to that.

"I think you're being paranoid. You think everyone's HYDRA. And I agree, they're around somewhere, I just don't think Jessie's one of them."

"Miss Mackenzie to you," Natasha muttered. At his quizzical look, she sighed impatiently. "There are certain conventions in this time, Barnes. She's Miss Mackenzie as far as you're concerned, got it? Just like Steve's wife is Mrs Rogers. At least until such time as either of them gives you permission to call them by their given name. And, if they have any sense, that time will be never."

"Yes, Mrs Barnes."

"Hilarious."

As they approached the wagon, Bucky felt Natasha tense beside him, and dig her fingers into the arm she was holding onto. He couldn't immediately see why, although he'd gone straight onto high alert at the change in her grip, but eventually, by following her riveted gaze, he saw that she was staring at Jessie, who was kneeling beside the cookfire; as far as he could tell, she was cooking. Grace was sitting by the main fire, looking grouchy, with Steve beside her, looking a little harassed. Mrs Rogers was clearly not a good patient; Bucky couldn't help but think that Steve deserved it – after the countless times he'd had to put up with Steve insisting he was fine and could be up and about, whilst simultaneously attempting to cough up a lung, he thought a taste of his own medicine was only fitting. But he turned his attention back to Jessie, who seemed to be prodding what he assumed was their dinner – she looked a little distracted, but he couldn't see any reason for Natasha's reaction.

"What is it?" he whispered to her.

"Why is she cooking?"

"I guess Grac-sorry, Mrs Rogers, isn't up to it. She does have a cracked rib. What does it matter?"

"She could have put anything in there!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Natasha, even supposing she is HYDRA, do you really think she's going to poison us all tonight? Including herself?"

"There are such things as antidotes…"

Bucky looked up to the heavens for patience. "Natasha, she's cooking because Mrs Rogers can't, and because if Steve tried to, he actually would poison us. Now chill out, and be nice."

Natasha gave him an icy look, which in an instant changed into a simpering smile as she realised Steve had seen them. The transformation was terrifying, made worse by her digging her fingers into his arm, whilst hissing, "Smile back at me" from between her teeth. He tried, but had a horrible feeling it had been more like a grimace.

Steve meanwhile, had leapt to his feet and hastened towards them, where he shook Bucky's hand vigorously, and then actually kissed Natasha's. Bucky stood between them, a flat look of disbelief in his eyes. Steve, a smooth operator with the ladies? What was this strange world in which he found himself?

They were soon seated beside the fire with Mrs Rogers. Bucky decided it wasn't worth trying his luck with kissing Grace's hand – she had a look on her face that suggested she was just looking for an excuse to punch someone. He was suddenly forcefully reminded of Peggy – he'd seen that look on her face a fair number of times, too. Quite often directed at him, and so he prudently kept his distance from Grace. Natasha however ignored the distinctly hostile vibes emanating from her, settling down beside her, kissing her on the cheek, and asking solicitously after her health. Bucky could tell Grace still wasn't convinced, but she bore with it tolerably well. Steve was obviously relieved to escape his wife for a little while – oh, so he was glad to see Bucky now… Bucky shook his head a little, trying to clear away the resentment. It wasn't fair on Steve. So he started a desultory conversation with him, asking after Grace, and generally making small talk, and keeping an eye on Jessie. He did once catch Natasha's eye, who was looking at him warningly, but he was just a bit bemused by her behaviour. She hadn't seemed to notice that they'd arrived; she certainly hadn't acknowledged their presence, and she looked like her mind was a million miles away. And it turned out to be a good thing he was keeping an eye on her; it meant he noticed when something she wasn't keeping an eye on started burning.

"Erm, Miss Mackenzie?" he called over to her.

Her head shot up at his voice, and she looked straight at him, with a strange, almost scared look in her eyes. Well, he guessed if she hadn't noticed him arrive, she wouldn't be expecting him to speak to her. She continued to stare at him, so he spoke again.

"I think something's burning," he said, pointing at the smoke rising from one of the pans in front of her. She looked down at said pan, a bit uncomprehendingly, but then snapped back into awareness and hauled it off the fire. Grace, meanwhile, had turned to see what the commotion was about.

"Oh, Jessie!" she snapped. "You've burned the cornbread!"

Jessie stared down at the cornbread as if not entirely sure what she was doing. With a frown, Steve approached her, sensing something was very wrong.

"Jess? Are you alright?"

Jessie looked up at him blankly, but then shook herself. "I'm fine, Steve," she said, still distractedly.

"You sure? You don't look fine."

She smiled weakly. "I'm alright, Steve. Really, I am. I was just lost in thought, that's all."

Steve gave her a long look. "Are you sure it's nothing your brothers have done to you?"

Jessie shook her head. "No, Steve, it's not that. They haven't done anything. Really. I just – I just have a headache, that's all. I'll be fine."

Bucky suddenly became aware that both Natasha and Grace were watching him watching Jessie and Steve. Neither looked especially impressed with him. He opted to stare into the fire for safety, and then asked as casually as he could what they were having for dinner, straining to hear the rest of the conversation by the cookfire, but not quite able to make it out. He didn't like the sound of Jessie's brothers, though. And he couldn't help but want to know what was wrong. But then he realised he wasn't exactly keeping to his cover story, and tried to pull himself together to listen to Grace's reply. He felt he might have missed a tirade about burned cornbread, but managed to glean that they were having duck stew.

"Duck?" he questioned, distracted suddenly by the unexpected response.

"Yes," huffed Grace. "Jessie got them for us. I don't know where from, she always seems to be able to get hold of things." He noticed Natasha's sudden glance at Grace, and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Being able to source duck at short notice was hardly proof of membership of HYDRA. "Of course," she continued, "it won't taste very good with burned cornbread."

"I'm sure the cornbread will be fine," Bucky replied, "and the stew will be delicious."

Grace didn't look at all mollified by his comment. Bucky looked helplessly at Natasha.

"Perhaps it won't taste as good as if you'd made it," she said soothingly, "but it's nice of Miss Mackenzie to step in to help. Certainly better than Steve trying to cook for us all."

Grace looked very much like she wanted to argue, but caught herself, and after a few moments' struggle, she subsided.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm not being a good host. I'm sure the dinner will be fine, and it is nice of Jessie to cook for us. I just wish I didn't feel so useless."

"It can't be helped," replied Natasha sympathetically. "You're hurt – you'd probably feel a lot worse if you'd been cooking."

"I'm not sure about that," Grace replied mournfully. "I think maybe it would be good to be doing something – it might distract me."

"Bucky," Natasha said, a trifle pointedly, as his gaze started to wander back to the other fire, "why don't you tell Mrs Rogers more about Steve's life?"

Bucky, on the spot, floundered around for something safe he could say. "Er, well, Steve was really poor when he was younger. He used to wear holes in his shoes, and he'd have to stuff them with – with newspaper." Grace looked stricken. "Yeah, his Dad, well, he died before he was born, and his Mom, she, she was a nurse and well, she got sick and died when he was about nineteen." Behind Grace, he could see Natasha gesturing for him to shut the hell up – he focussed on Grace's face to see that her eyes had filled with tears, and she looked distraught.

"Steve!" she cried. "Poor Steve! That's – that's awful!"

Bucky, panicked by her tears, blustered on. "It's ok, he – he had me. I looked out for him. So did my folks. They cared about him, too."

"Thank you!" she sobbed in response, throwing her arms around his neck. Bucky, frozen in place, threw Natasha a terrified look.

"It's ok, ma'am," he replied uncertainly. "He was my best friend. Of course I looked out for him." He chuckled. "If I hadn't, he'd have ended up beaten to a pulp in an alley somew-" He trailed off, but it was too late. As Natasha hid her head in her hands in despair, Grace stared up into his face in horror.

"Why? Why would that have happened?"

"Well, Steve, he was always getting into fights. And back then, he wasn't so big as he is now. But he'd take on anyone, if he thought they were behaving badly. Bullying people, disrespecting the dam-ladies, anything really. He's big on justice, just not so big on fighting. So I'd go and get him out of them. Somehow, I could always tell when he was in trouble." Grace's eyes were huge as she looked up at him. "Sometimes," he continued, "he even took on guys who were too big for me. Or several at a time. I always won, but then he'd say I'd fought dirty, and he'd be angry with me. I don't know what else he expected me to do – if I didn't win, we'd both end up face down in the dirt somewhere."

A fresh storm of weeping overtook Grace, as she threw her arms around him. "Oh, Bucky, I'm so glad he had you!"

Bucky gingerly patted her back gently, with his non-metal hand. "It's ok, ma'am, really. It was nothing he wouldn't have done for me."

Grace, suddenly seeming to realise the impropriety of clinging to a man not her husband, pulled back and wiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, smiling weakly. "I must look such a fright." Bucky, still vaguely terrified, just shook his head in denial. "No, I really do," she insisted. "I should go and tidy herself up." She carefully climbed to her feet and went into her wagon, leaving Bucky staring helplessly at Natasha, who was looking at him in disbelief that he could have been such an idiot.

"What?" he whispered defensively. "It distracted her, didn't it?"

Steve chose that moment to return to the fire, carrying plates of steaming hot stew and cornbread. As he handed them over, he looked round for Grace confusedly. He looked at Bucky quizzically.

"Er, she got a little upset. I was telling her about when we were younger, and she- she found it kind of distressing."

Steve needed no further prompting to follow his wife, whilst Jessie came over with another two plates of stew. She looked bemused to find herself with only the Barneses for company, and a little nervous as she settled herself by the fire, as far from both of them as she could manage, Bucky noticed. She was about to ask, when the sound of Grace's sobbing whilst she recounted Steve's tragic life to him answered her question. Looking a little awkward, she suggested that perhaps they should start eating before it got cold, speaking loudly in an attempt to drown out the excruciating conversation going on in the wagon.

Bucky needed no further invitation – it smelled delicious. Natasha was more reluctant, watching Jessie narrowly, and not taking a mouthful until she did. The dinner continued in silence for a few more awkward moments, before Bucky spoke to break it.

"This is really lovely. It's delicious. Isn't it, Nat?"

Natasha looked daggers at him, before replying. "Yes. It's – it's good."

Jessie smiled a little wanly. "Thanks. Sorry about the cornbread."

"Tastes fine to me," replied Bucky, smiling warmly at her. She seemed vaguely transfixed by him, but then suddenly looked back down at her plate. "It would taste better if Grace had made it," she mumbled. "It's her grandmother's famous recipe. She's very particular about it. I kept messing it up."

Surprisingly, it was Natasha who answered her. "I have a feeling that today, everything everybody did was wrong as far as Mrs Rogers was concerned."

Jessie threw her a grateful smile, looking a little surprised to be treated with such warmth. "She has been – difficult. I don't think she got a lot of sleep, and I don't think the painkillers the doctor left her have been helping much. I thought I might visit the apothecary tomorrow and see if he had anything that could help."

"Really?" said Natasha, a tiny bit more sharply than she'd meant. Bucky couldn't stop himself rolling his eyes that time. "Perhaps I might go with you, if that's alright. There's one or two things I need."

"Alright," replied Jessie uncertainly. "You're staying at the hotel, right? I'll come and find you tomorrow morning."

Before anyone could say anything else, Steve emerged from the wagon, looking hassled. He picked up the other plate that Jessie had brought over, and looked apologetically at his guests.

"I'm sorry, she's a little upset at the moment. I thought I'd take her dinner into her."

Bucky, a guilty expression on his face, apologised for causing the upset in the first place. Steve shrugged it off, and turned back to take Grace her dinner, when Jessie spoke.

"Tell her it's fine. I don't mind that she was a bit short with me today."

Steve turned to her, looking horrified. "You could hear all that?"

Jessie, suddenly realising she'd said very much the wrong thing, winced. "No?" she ventured. "I just thought maybe she'd been feeling bad about it, that's all."

As Steve looked at her doubtfully, Bucky took advantage of their distraction to look over at Natasha, and mouth, "HYDRA? Really?" She nodded in reply, and mouthed back, "Just incompetent." Bucky looked back at her in exasperation, and then realised Jessie was looking at him quizzically, whilst Steve had vanished back into the wagon. He decided to cover by smiling at her again, and found it strangely gratifying when she suddenly smiled back at him. It might have been a little bit longer than was strictly necessary that they sat there smiling at each other, before Natasha broke in.

"So, Miss Mackenzie, you're travelling with your brothers?"

Jessie turned quickly back to face Natasha. "Er, yes, all three of them. They want to have a farm out in Oregon, and so I have to go along with them." Before either Natasha or Bucky could respond, she continued, "Our parents died a few years ago. Well, Dad did, Mom died a while before that. So they've looked after me ever since. And, seeing as I couldn't find anyone to marry me back in Cincinnati before they left, here I am." She smiled brightly, but it was obvious to Bucky that she was anything but happy. He looked over at Natasha to see what she was thinking; she looked vaguely impressed, but it was clear that she didn't believe a word of it. Thankfully, they were saved from having to reply by Steve coming back out for his dinner. Bucky was a bit disappointed – he'd wanted to find out more, and hopefully convince Natasha that Jessie couldn't possibly be a HYDRA agent – for some reason, it really mattered to him. Instead, he had to settle for Steve mildly admonishing him for telling Grace all the really bad stuff first. Bucky graciously acknowledged that it hadn't been very clever, and after that, the evening got a little easier. Steve clearly wasn't remembering anything, but he seemed a little easier about it. Jessie left not long after, claiming her headache was worse, but she did remember to remind Natasha that she'd see her the next day. As they were leaving, Bucky decided to ask Steve about Jessie's brothers. He didn't say much, he just said that she'd had a bit of trouble with them before – they were basically all brutes, and they weren't very kind to her. Then, he suddenly smiled at Bucky.

"You always did have a thing for the redheads, didn't you?"

As Bucky stared at him in shock, Steve's initial reaction was to look awkwardly at Natasha, as that had been a very inappropriate comment for him to make. Then it suddenly hit him, that he'd actually remembered something, after which it suddenly didn't seem to matter anymore.

Jessie was waiting outside the hotel when Natasha emerged into the street. She felt a momentary flicker of irritation, as if somehow the younger woman had got one-up on her by being there first. She quelled the feeling, though – she had her three 'brothers' to take care of, and had likely been up since first light running around after them. She'd probably taken the first opportunity she could to escape them, even if it meant hanging around Main Street for ages.

Natasha had to admire her courage a little. She was nonchalantly leaning against the wall, a basket over one arm, a bonnet on her head, a shawl around her shoulders, looking for all the world like a little 1840s madam. She didn't recognise her from S.H.I.E.L.D. which annoyed her a little – she was giving some signs of being a half-decent operative, and Natasha had thought she'd known them all. Of course, it was possible she was from one of the science or tech divisions, with a hitherto unknown talent for espionage – Natasha hadn't paid quite so much attention to them. Jessie smiled quite warmly as Natasha approached her – she couldn't help but admire such aplomb; as a HYDRA agent, she'd know exactly who she was up against, and inside, she must be absolutely terrified, but so far, she wasn't letting it show. She briefly considered whether Bucky had a point, and maybe she was just an unfortunate girl from this time caught up in the crossfire, but no. The way she'd looked at Barnes the first time she'd seen him – she'd absolutely recognised him. She'd recovered herself enough to mask her recognition of Natasha, but that instinctive reaction to Barnes had already given the game away. Of course, Bucky's suggestion that she might just find him attractive wasn't necessarily too wide of the mark, either – later events had shown that that was a distinct possibility. And could possibly be used against her, though they'd have to be careful – this was a time when a married man getting entangled with another woman would cause the scandal of the century; it might actually be best to play up to the jealous wife and warn her away. And then, there'd been Steve's revelations about her 'brothers' – they were obviously giving her a hard time, plus she seemed to be doing all the surveillance work – it was more than possible that her allegiance could be changed with a little bit of encouragement. She was already clearly under Steve's spell – too much time around him had a tendency to turn even the most jaded and cynical of people into wide-eyed optimists, and Jessie seemed to be no exception. There were definite prospects with this one – Natasha was going to have to play it carefully.

"I realised we never actually agreed a time to meet," said Jessie, a trifle breathlessly, as Natasha reached her. "And I wasn't sure what would count as too early, so I didn't want to disturb you if you weren't up – I'm always up early, so… I thought I'd just wait out here."

She was definitely one of the techies promoted up the ranks – far too much talking for one with the proper training. Still, sometimes empty-headed chatter could get information; it wasn't the worst tactic in the world, she guessed, just wildly inappropriate against her.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long," she replied, neutrally.

"Not really. And I quite like watching the people go by – it's kind of interesting in a way. Anyway, the apothecary's shop is this way." She pushed herself off the wall, and headed off down the street, waiting momentarily to let Natasha catch up with her.

"What are you thinking might help Mrs Rogers?" she asked, as they walked. She didn't really think the girl was going to poison her; she seemed to genuinely care about her, but it never hurt to be too careful.

"I don't know, really,' Jessie responded. "I was going to ask him, and see what he suggested. I'd have thought maybe valerian might be a good bet, but he might know of something better. He might even be able to suggest something else for the pain – I have it written down somewhere what she's already taking, so hopefully, he won't give her something he shouldn't."

Natasha was quietly impressed with her thoroughness – of course it could be put down to mere concern, but it did also cover her tracks quite neatly.

"You could try chamomile," she suggested. "It sometimes helps."

Jessie looked across at her, seemingly a little surprised by her helpfulness. Natasha could understand why; after all, she was the enemy, and it didn't make too much sense on the surface for her to be helpful, but then this was about Steve's wife, and both of them had a vested interest in helping her. Plus, if she and Bucky were going to subvert Jessie to their side, she'd need a compelling reason to trust them. Not threatening her at every opportunity seemed a good way to start winning that trust.

"Maybe I'll do that," she replied, a little uncertainly. Natasha sighed inwardly. Bucky was clearly going to have to do most of the heavy lifting when it came to winning her trust; her fearsome reputation clearly preceded her rather too much.

They walked along in silence then, until they reached the apothecary – it was only a short way down Main Street. Natasha wondered why Steve hadn't pointed it out on his grand tour, but then, in this time, men probably didn't bother themselves so much with such domestic matters; that would all be left to the womenfolk.

As Jessie entered the shop and went to the counter, Natasha hung back a little, ostensibly looking at his wares whilst he dealt with his first customer, but of course she was listening in. Jessie did nothing out of the ordinary, and did just as she'd said – she asked about something to help someone sleep who was in pain. The apothecary suggested valerian or chamomile – Jessie took both. She also asked about whether he could give anything else for the pain; all he could suggest was wintergreen tea. Jessie agreed to take some of that, but sounded a bit disappointed that he had nothing better. He replied that there was always laudanum, which caused Natasha to sharpen her ears and drift towards the counter, but he continued that she'd have to speak to the doctor about that; he wouldn't just hand it out to anyone. Jessie didn't seem disappointed, she just agreed that if the tea didn't help, she'd speak to him. And then she asked for some arnica. Natasha threw her a quizzical look as the apothecary went to fetch it, to which Jessie slightly defensively responded that she thought maybe it would help with Grace's bruising. Natasha knew it was a lie; it was clearly something Jessie was buying for herself, for her own bruising. She wasn't entirely indifferent to Jessie's suffering – of course, she'd suffered worse herself and wasn't entirely averse to the idea of pain being used to instil discipline or obedience, but she somehow got the feeling that with Jessie, it probably tipped well over the line into rank abuse. To be honest, someone like Steve would say it was all abuse and he was probably right – but then, they couldn't all live life with Steve's black and white view of the world. Still, it was something to add to the list of ammunition against HYDRA – turning her could probably end up being laughably easy; indeed, she couldn't help but wonder if Jessie was already halfway there herself with no outside interference needed. Steve could do that to people – so could being abandoned in the middle of a backward time, with no prospect of rescue. Jessie must know she wasn't valued by HYDRA, so why should she value them in return?

Once Jessie had made her purchases, she muttered something about waiting outside for Natasha, and left the shop. Natasha hadn't really needed anything of course, but she made a few things up and made a few purchases of her own before she left; anything else would have looked suspicious.

She'd wondered whether Jessie might not have waited for her, but she was there, standing just across the street. She briefly considered asking her to have tea or similar, but on reflection, decided that Jessie wouldn't want to, she'd want to take her bounty off to Grace. She'd also decided against warning her off Bucky just yet – after all, the more egregious behaviour in that respect had come from him, not her – Natasha could afford to sit back and watch a little more before intervening if it was needed. For now, she needed Bucky to befriend her; that wouldn't happen if Natasha scared her off. In fact, she mused, it wouldn't hurt to try to set up a chance meeting between them; Bucky wouldn't need much encouragement, and she rather thought Jessie wouldn't be averse to spending time with him if given the opportunity. That being the case, she chose to cut her losses for now, and so, after thanking Jessie for showing her the apothecary, and wishing her luck with Grace, she retired back to the hotel. There were other things that also needed her attention; it was becoming abundantly clear that they were going to have to travel the damn trail. Steve might have remembered something about Bucky yesterday but it hadn't been much, and if that was the pace his memories were going to take in coming back, he wouldn't be much further along before he was due to leave. And Steve wouldn't wait around on the word of two people who might be his friends – he'd be off at the earliest opportunity. She and Bucky were heading to Oregon, and they needed to make sure they were suitably equipped…

Bucky sat by the window of his and Natasha's hotel room, watching the people go by on Main Street below. He was keeping an eye out for Jessie; Natasha had assigned him the task of befriending her and winning her trust. He wasn't totally sure why – she'd been warning him off her previously, but all of a sudden seemed to have changed her mind. She seemed to think that Jessie was more likely to trust him than her; apparently, as she still insisted that Jessie was a HYDRA agent, she'd know all about Natasha Romanoff and wouldn't trust her at all. Bucky, being a more unknown quantity, with his own HYDRA history, and a face that Jessie seemed to find appealing, was apparently much more suited to the task. He didn't believe that Jessie was HYDRA for a second, but it wouldn't hurt to have her trust them, and if Natasha wanted to give the job to him, he wouldn't complain. Spending time with Jessie would hardly be a chore – he'd have to be a bit careful, as this wasn't his time, and it would be easy to overstep one of the many inexplicable rules there were governing interactions of that type – but he thought he could manage that. Something about Jessie made him feel things he hadn't felt for a good long while – and more than anything, they felt normal. Normal, and not tainted by anything that HYDRA had done to him. Everyone had always told him he'd been a bit of a ladies' man when he was younger, but since he'd come back to being as close as he possibly could to himself, he'd not recovered that side of himself. He didn't really think he had now – but he had proved that he wasn't totally dead inside; it was still possible for a pretty face and luxuriant red hair to get his attention.

Besides, spending time with Jessie had to be a big improvement on his other task, also assigned by Natasha, which was to acquire a wagon and its contents, and the means of moving it to Oregon. He'd managed to get hold of the wagon, with the help of Steve, who had gratifyingly seemed really pleased to hear that he and Natasha would be travelling with them. Bucky thought he'd been touched that they cared so much about him that they'd do such a thing. However, Steve hadn't been so much help with the means of conveying the wagon – he'd spoken at some length about the pros and cons of both oxen and horses, and then left it up to Bucky to choose, which had struck him as a bit bizarre. He'd have been more than happy to follow Steve's advice on that as well as on the choice of wagon, but Steve had seemed to think more research was needed. As far as Bucky could tell, the general consensus in the camps was oxen; there were some people with horses, but they were few and far between. On the other hand, horses were more expensive, so perhaps there were less of them around, not because they weren't as good, but because they were too much for most people to be able to afford. Bucky sighed. It would be so much easier if someone would just give him a list to follow…

Ruminating on livestock had almost caused Bucky to miss his mark. He just caught sight of Jessie's flaming hair disappearing into one of the shops – a second later and he'd have missed her entirely. Hurriedly, he pulled on his jacket, and headed for the door. Natasha had gone off earlier that morning to spend the day with Steve and Grace; he wasn't sure what her aim was, but he wondered if her plan was to ingratiate herself with Grace, seeing as how she'd apparently failed so badly with Jessie.

Emerging into the watery February sunshine, Bucky blinked as he looked down the street to where he'd last seen Jessie. She'd emerged from whichever shop she'd been in and was moving down the street away from him, swinging a basket beside her as she walked. There was a certain sway to her hips as she moved, and Bucky, head on one side, suddenly realised that he'd been watching her longer than was strictly necessary. Or polite. Deeply grateful that Natasha hadn't seen any of that, he hurried down the street after her, muttering to himself to get a grip. This entire conversation was going to take place in a very public place, and he was not to misbehave. Then he suddenly grinned – well, maybe a very little bit of misbehaving wouldn't hurt; he was supposed to be charming her over to their side, after all.

He caught up with her standing outside the grocer's, in front of a huge array of fruit and vegetables. She was embroiled in a haggling battle with the owner, and watching her, Bucky couldn't help but smile. She was good – using just enough of her charm, and just enough ingénue innocence, to wrap the poor fruit seller around her finger. She definitely ended up with the better half of the bargain; he didn't think Natasha could have done it any better.

She was so intent on her recent successes, that she didn't see him as she made to move away, and nearly walked straight into him. He put his hand out to steady her, as she looked up at him with a hint of apprehension in her eyes. Then she realised it was him, and he saw her relax slightly, then become aware of how close to him she was now standing, and tense up again. He let her go, and stepped back from her, smiling as gently as he knew how to – he'd never hear the end of it from Natasha if he spooked her now. Thankfully, it had the desired effect – she relaxed again, and smiled back at him, seeming genuinely happy to see him.

"Mr. Barnes, it's good to see you. How are you and your- lovely wife?"

Sheer force of will kept him from smirking at that momentary hesitation. Natasha was definitely not flavour of the month with this girl.

"We're both fine, thank you. Natalie," (he just remembered in time to use the name she'd given herself) "is spending some time with Steve and his wife. Which leaves me to do the shopping."

"Normally, it would be the other way round," Jessie said, a slight smile on her face.

"Not when you're shopping for livestock," he replied a little ruefully. "That's definitely a man's job."

"Livestock?" she asked, a little dubiously. Then she figured it out. "Oh! You're travelling the trail as well?"

He was no Natasha; he couldn't read what her expression meant as well as she could have, but he vaguely sensed trepidation from her. Not quite what he was hoping for.

"Well, I figured you don't look for someone for five years, find them, and then let them go again. And with things with Steve being as they are… I couldn't let him go with him not remembering me." He realised his thoughts were drifting into a darker place, and pulled himself back to reality. "So, I'm going to go with him and annoy him into remembering me."

That made her smile. "I'm sure he'll be very pleased to hear it."

"He seemed to be, when I told him. He helped me buy a wagon yesterday, and offered to help get us into his wagon party, but he was really uncooperative about the livestock. I don't know which is better – oxen or horses?"

"Oxen," Jessie replied automatically. "They're much sturdier, and tolerate hardship a lot better. Also cheaper. Much better for the trail. Horses are too fragile and need too much looking after. If you have the money, you could buy one or two to ride, otherwise it's a long walk, but most people haven't bothered. Besides, they're a prime target for thieves, whereas oxen are more two-a-penny."

"See, why couldn't Steve just tell me that?"

Jessie shrugged. "You should definitely buy your oxen from Mr Thompson. They're a bit pricier, but they're much better quality – he looks after them properly and keeps them well fed. And he won't try to cheat you."

"So how is it that you're such a fount of knowledge about this, when it's such a man's task?"

She shrugged again. "I hear things. This is a small town – people gossip. It's amazing what kind of things you overhear in the general store." Then she gave him a slightly sly smile. "So, if it had never entered your head to travel to Oregon before, oh, a few days ago, you don't have the first clue about what to take with you, do you?"

He shook his head sadly. "Not a clue. It would be so much easier if someone would just give me a list." The look he gave her was just a tiny bit flirtatious, looking up at her through his eyelashes, but it was mostly pleading. He actually really needed her help. But there was a certain fun in playing her at her own game.

She definitely responded to the look – her smile was a little flustered as she suddenly looked away, but she did eventually look back at him, a little shyly. "I'll work on it," she said quietly, before looking away again.

Bucky was surprised he could have quite that much of an effect on her, and he suddenly felt a bit guilty. He was, after all, a married man as far as she was concerned, in a time when such things _really_ mattered; he shouldn't be playing around with her like this.

"Thanks," he said, suddenly awkward. "That would be a huge help."

Jessie picked up on his suddenly more serious demeanour, and responded to it gratefully. "It's mostly just food you need, and cooking stuff. Clothes, boots, that kind of thing – I'm sure you could figure most of it out yourself. Oh, and a rifle – you'll need to go hunting for food along the way, once the stuff you buy here runs out. Have you ever handled a rifle before?"

It was funny – he thought he saw her grimace a little as she spoke, as if she thought she'd said something really stupid. The problem was, he was having to struggle to keep hold of himself. He'd handled plenty of rifles before, but none of them for something so simple and clean as hunting for food. He could feel himself slipping a little, and the middle of a really crowded street was not the place for this to be happening.

"Mr. Barnes? Are you alright?" Her concerned voice broke into his consciousness, giving him something to focus on. With a deep intake of breath, he opened his eyes and looked into her anxious face, her hand hovering just over his arm, his left arm, as if she'd been in two minds about touching him. He straightened up and moved his arm away from her. That was something else that wasn't for a crowded street.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I just, I got hit on the head once, a while ago. Sometimes it feels a bit like I might black out, but it normally passes."

"I'm sorry if I did something to set it off," she answered, sounding genuinely concerned.

"You didn't, Je-Miss Mackenzie. It just happens sometimes, for no reason. It wasn't you at all."

She smiled shyly. "You can call me Jessie, if you like. Miss Mackenzie just isn't me."

He hesitated, knowing he should probably stop this before it went any further. But he also knew he probably wouldn't.

"That's very kind of you," he replied. "And you can call me Bucky."


	5. Chapter 5

And so, finally, they were off. Travelling the Oregon Trail, becoming a part of history. Secretly, Bucky kind of liked the idea – history had been one of his favourite subjects at school; it was what made the idea of time travel so exciting to him. Of course, when he was younger, all he'd wanted was to go to the future, but as an older and wiser man, he saw that the past was perhaps a better place to be. He found the past less confusing, less bewildering somehow. Of course, even to him, 1848 was backward, without many of the things even people in the 1940s had taken for granted, but it was a huge improvement on the shiny, metallic future he'd woken up in as a broken shell of a man. Here, things were simpler, and easier, and he was taking part in one of the defining moments of his country's history. Plus, he couldn't help but find it amusing to be alive in the time of the man he was named for, before anyone really knew that man's name. Time travel was every bit as awesome as he'd thought it would be.

Well, except for the reason he'd time-travelled. Steve. Who showed frustratingly little progress in recovering any of his memories. There'd been a few flashes since his first recollection of Bucky, but hardly anything earth-shattering. It was made more difficult by the fact that some of the really important and memorable moments of Steve's life made no sense in the context of the time, and with no memories of his past life, Bucky and Natasha were limited in how much use they could make of them. No good him thinking they were crazy and therefore dangerous, and avoiding them – they had to gain his trust. Natasha was convinced Bucky was the key to him remembering; if he couldn't remember him, he wasn't likely to remember anything. And true, most of what little had come back had been about Bucky. But he couldn't help but think that if he could only tell Steve more of the truth, that maybe, just maybe, Steve would remember more. But Natasha was right – it wasn't as easy as that. He needed to get to a point where he was remembering things that didn't make sense to him, but that he recognised as memories, and not weird strange nightmares – then, and only then, could they really start to tell him the truth. And waiting for that to happen was taking a distressingly long time.

At least there was something to keep him occupied. Even in this simpler, easier time he found himself in, where he felt like he could almost be Bucky Barnes again, he had the feeling that sitting around all day with nothing to do would cause problems of the unstable behaviour variety. With nothing to do, he had a tendency to brood, and that led to dark memories and dark thoughts seeping back in, and down that path lay danger. But since they'd realised that Steve wasn't going to remember before he left and that they'd have to go with him, he'd been kept busy with stocking their wagon with all the things they'd need. Having very little need for many of the things that other travellers were taking with them, their wagon had a lot more room in it than most. Which was good, as it was a safe space for them to hide and consult the datapad. They'd eventually figured out that Stark was so far ahead of them that he'd built in a 'candlelight' setting, which meant they didn't need to worry too much about an unearthly blue glow emanating from the screen – it would have been nice if he'd mentioned it, however; it would have saved them a lot of aggravation…

Steve, Grace and Jessie had all been helpful in their own ways, Steve in helping Bucky haul vast quantities of dried foodstuffs from the general stores to the wagon, Grace in helping Natasha outfit them with enough sensible clothes for trail travel (Natasha had proved a quick study when it came to learning to sew, but was proving a little less adept at cooking – Bucky wondered if it was the one thing in the world that Natasha Romanoff wasn't best at), and Jessie in providing the promised list of things they would need, and lots of helpful hints about where to get them from, how much of each to get, and how to get the prices of those things down. Whilst he was out acquiring stuff, Natasha was in the wagon reading everything she could find about the Oregon Trail, and finding out about all the dangers and risks they were likely to face, and coming up with 10,000 different contingency plans for each one. Nothing like being crazy prepared. It was a shame though – had they only known what they'd be facing, they could have come equipped with more helpful things, like antibiotics for example. Bucky also feared what might happen if something went wrong with his mechanical arm – they had Tony's tools that he used when he was poking around in it, and Natasha had been given a crash course in how to fix the most likely problems, but if something went badly wrong with it (which happened from time to time, though usually only when he'd been fighting and it got damaged), he could be in trouble. Natasha's glib suggestion that he'd better not fight anything was probably good advice, but when he started to lose control and he needed to get some space, he had a habit of taking out trees – he guessed there was the possibility that one of them might take revenge one day. Coming back to camp with half a tree stuck through his arm might cause a bit of a stir…

On this first day of travelling, they were a long way behind Steve and Grace. It was all to do with where they'd been camped, and as they'd been late arrivals, they were somewhere near the back. It wasn't a huge wagon train, only 20 or so wagons, but it was enough to keep them apart for now. Bucky wasn't really worried; in many ways, Steve was much better able to deal with this situation than he was, but that was the thing – if Steve wasn't where he could see him, he started to fret a little. Stupid maybe, but it was so fundamentally a part of Bucky Barnes to have to know where Steve Rogers was that he'd given up fighting it. He'd just have to check on him when they stopped for meals, and when they stopped for the day, he was going to let Natasha manoeuvre them into place next to the Rogers wagon. He knew she could do it, and probably a lot less confrontationally than he could.

Jessie and her brothers were a few wagons ahead of them too – he could see her walking along beside her wagon, a bonnet on her head (he couldn't quite explain it, but she looked really cute in a bonnet) and a shawl floating from her hand – it was a warm morning. There was, he decided, something incredibly distracting about the way she walked. Beside him, Natasha sniggered. He looked over at her questioningly.

"She knows you're watching. She's doing it on purpose."

"Come off it, Nat. That's not true."

"You think I don't know all the ways there are to make someone notice me? That is one of the oldest tricks in the book."

He gave her a scornful look in response.

"What? It's working isn't it? Your attention is definitely attracted. Just because it's an old trick doesn't mean it's not a good one."

He opened his mouth to deny it, and then realised he couldn't.

"And I think it just proves my point that she's HYDRA."

"Oh God, not this again."

"No God-fearing, virtuous, demure little missy from 1848 would be putting on that kind of display for a married man."

"Natasha, it's not like she's stripped down to her underwear. That's nothing, even if she is laying it on a tiny bit thicker than she might normally."

"For this time, that's pretty much the same thing. Which means she's either a total hussy, or she's not from this time, and knows full well that you and I are no married couple. So you're fair game for her."

"Somehow, I think a master covert operative such as you're making her out to be would cover her tracks better than that."

"I never said she was a good operative. Besides, she needs to make sure she's got your attention. With you, sometimes subtlety isn't very effective."

That got her an aggrieved look.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "And her mission is clearly to manipulate you into telling her things that are of use to her HYDRA brothers. Meanwhile, your mission is to manipulate her into giving herself away so we can bring her over to our side."

"What?" Bucky exploded. "Is that why you've been encouraging me to befriend her? So I can make her defect? Are you crazy?"

"I think she'd be better off with us."

"She's not HYDRA!" Bucky retorted, a tiny bit louder than he'd intended. A few funny looks were aimed his way, though thankfully not from Jessie's direction. "She's just a normal girl from this time, and you're just being paranoid!"

"Really?" Natasha replied flatly. "Because no girl from this time would be doing everything in her power to attract a married man – her sense of propriety wouldn't let her."

"You're seriously telling me nobody had affairs in these days?" replied Bucky disbelievingly. "I don't believe you."

"Of course they did, but not good girls like her. If she really is from this time, the only thing she has is her virtue – she's not just going to hand it to the first handsome married man she sees, no matter how earth-shatteringly, devastatingly good-looking she thinks he is."

"Oh, come off it, Nat. I hardly think swaying her hips a little as she walks is throwing away her 'virtue'."

"In this time, you'd be surprised. I can't imagine Grace Rogers would approve if she saw her."

"Grace Rogers just doesn't approve of me."

"Well, you do keep eyeing up her best friend in front of your wife."

"I do not."

"Bucky, you absolutely do! That's the problem – you have absolutely no idea you're doing it."

"Well, you were the one who encouraged me to turn my charm on her."

"Well, yes. I want her to give herself away. She's far more likely to confide in you than me, so you need to encourage her by making her fall in love with you."

"Natasha, that's horrible!"

"It looks like you were having quite a lot of fun to me…"

"I will not use her like that. If that's really all this is about, I'm going to stop."

"Oh, relax, Bucky. She's HYDRA, she doesn't want to be, sooner or later she'll come clean to you, she can join us, we'll take her back with us and the two of you can live happily ever after. I know you don't have it in you to manipulate someone like that. I'm only making use of your obvious feelings for her to achieve the same end. She's crazy about you too – a proper little Bucky Barnes fangirl."

Bucky frowned at the unfamiliar term, but let it pass. "And if she's not HYDRA? If she actually is a normal everyday 1848 Cincinnati girl? What do we do then, when I've made her fall in love with me?"

"We could still take her with us." At Bucky's deeply unconvinced look, she continued, "We're going to have to take Grace back with us. She might like the company. And you'll still get your girl. But it's irrelevant. She is HYDRA, and we are going to turn her."

Bucky realised that neither of them was going to back down, and to save the inevitable arguing round and round in circles, he kept his thoughts to himself. If Natasha really wanted to think that, he couldn't exactly stop her, and as long as she didn't do anything to give them away, by accusing Jessie of anything, he supposed it didn't entirely matter. Some of what Natasha had said made him pause, though – if what she was saying about girls from 1848 was true, then he shouldn't be messing around with Jessie the way he had been. It wasn't fair, and he didn't want to do anything to hurt her. So he resolved to keep his distance a bit more. Part of him rebelled a little, pointing out that Natasha was hardly an expert on the morals of the time, but then, she must be mostly right; Grace really didn't seem to approve of him, and that would fit with Natasha's assertion about his inappropriate behaviour. He was going to have to try to rein it in, even if Natasha was actually now encouraging him. Not least as he didn't want to deprive Jessie of her friends, and it was a possibility that Grace might end the connection if she felt they were going too far. It made him feel sad, though – over the past few weeks, he'd got to know Jessie quite well, and he couldn't deny that he'd fallen quite hard for her. He sighed – it seemed like he wasn't allowed to have any part of his life that wasn't a mess…

Natasha let Bucky brood as he drove the wagon. He'd so far proved completely resistant to her suggestions that Jessie was (reluctantly) a HYDRA agent; she could understand why – he wanted to believe the best of her, and he couldn't really do that if he thought she was a part of the organisation that was responsible for his suffering. But if he'd only accept it, he could work towards subverting her – and Natasha really didn't think it would take much; she was pretty sure Jessie was already most of the way there, she just needed a nudge and the reassurance that she'd be welcome on their side. And once they had her, they'd have effectively cut off the others from knowing what was going on, or at least they could control what they knew, and the whole mission would lose most of its jeopardy.

But now they'd stopped for the evening and were setting up camp, she looked over at her partner's determined expression and realised that it wasn't going to be that easy. She knew that set of the jaw, she'd seen it a hundred times on Steve, the one that meant, "I'm going to do the noble, but moronically stupid, thing". She should have known that Steve Rogers' best friend would have some of the same idiotic notions about truth and fairness and justice – how else could they have been friends? She should have just kept her mouth shut, and left him to it. They'd all be a lot happier that way. Now she'd just have to hope that Jessie would take the initiative – he might be feeling noble and righteous now, but she thought he'd find it hard to maintain that stance in her actual presence. Steve had told them enough stories about Bucky and the ladies when they were younger – his big weakness was pretty faces, and luckily for all concerned, Jessie had one of those.

He was also a bit of an expert when it came to making fires. She wondered if that had come from his time in the war; he'd spent most of his time in freezing cold Europe, scouting for the Howling Commandos. Being able to build a fire out of nothing would be a prized skill there, she'd imagine. Unfortunately, once he'd built the fire, she'd have to cook, and she was definitely not an expert at that. She looked a little longingly over at Grace's fire, where she was already settling down to making her dinner – Grace's food always smelled so amazing. It was going to be hard sitting across from them and eating whatever she managed to cobble together, whilst they dined in fine style. Still, Bucky had been in the war, and had survived on army rations – she was pretty sure he'd have eaten worse, and she knew she had.

They ate sitting by the Rogers' fire; all things considered, her first trail meal wasn't a total disaster. She realised halfway through eating it that she'd forgotten to add any salt, so it was a little bland, but bland was better than inedible, right? It was a little strange; for the first time, she felt a genuine sense of companionship as they all sat there together. The conversation didn't feel quite as forced as usual. Perhaps that was because Steve increasingly seemed to be accepting that he was never going to remember who he was, and so rarely asked them about his past anymore. It meant that there wasn't that tension about what they could and couldn't tell him, and a feeling of having to watch absolutely everything they said. However, they were going to have to keep pushing him; they needed to keep needling away at him, trying to get him to remember. She just wished she could think of something new they could try, that might help, but nothing came to mind. She really wanted to try 'cognitively recalibrating' him, but as soon as Bucky had realised what that meant, he'd very firmly put his foot down, and she wasn't about to argue with a volatile man who could crush her without thinking about it.

Still, it was actually quite nice to sit there companionably for a while. Since Grace's cracked rib had healed, she was a much sunnier person to be around, and seemed gradually to be accepting them into her and Steve's life. Natasha had gone on a serious charm offensive to win her over – she was still a complication she could do without, but Steve came with a wife now, so they just had to work with it. At some point, Grace was going to have to be persuaded to come to the future with them (the alternative was just unthinkable), and it would help to have people she liked and trusted who could convince her. Hopefully, Steve would do the bulk of the convincing, and Jessie could back him up, but just in case, Grace needed to feel comfortable with her and Bucky. Natasha thought she was winning Grace over, and had found her to not be the totally insufferable person she'd thought she might be, coming as she did from this time and its regressive views. Bucky, however, still had some work to do with her. As Steve's best friend (that Steve clearly accepted), she had to at least try to get along with him, but it was clear that she wasn't sure about him. Bucky also had a tendency to be moody around her and Steve – he tried to lighten up for his friend, but his general despondency over being so close to him whilst not actually being anywhere near him at all, couldn't help but show through. And then he'd light up when Jessie was near – she was the one bright, and, until she'd messed it up earlier, uncomplicated thing in his life, and he was always better when she was there. However, it was very clear that Grace didn't approve at all, and as usual for the people of this time, she put the blame squarely on Bucky's shoulders, steadfastly ignoring the fact that at least half of the 'looks' the two of them shared were directed at him, not by him. However, Natasha needed him to continue the connection – she needed Jessie to come over to their side, and so she needed Bucky to carry on winning her trust. But Grace wasn't going to make it easy, so Natasha made a mental note to work on keeping the extent of it from her. Jessie clearly wasn't stupid; she'd be every bit as aware of the proprieties of this time, probably even more so, as Natasha, being as she'd lived this life for more than five years, and she'd know the dangers of getting too close to an ostensibly married man. Natasha rather thought she'd be a willing (if possibly oblivious) accomplice in that. For now, it was probably for the best that she'd not made an appearance that evening; there was no point in raising tensions that didn't need to be raised. Plenty of time to win Jessie over in the future; the trail itself would take months, and if Steve still didn't remember them by then, there were years and years to spend in Oregon…

The last few days had been tough – hard going and yet monotonous. Walking all the way to Oregon from Missouri was every bit as tedious and backbreaking as it sounded, and for all their money, the best boots they'd been able to furnish themselves with still rubbed, and still caused painful blisters. Bucky, ever the stoic, didn't say anything about it, but even he had to be feeling it. Steve, super soldier extraordinaire, might not actually be suffering, but his wife definitely was. Grace didn't seem to have a huge amount of tolerance for pain – when she was hurting, her sharp tongue came out and lacerated anyone unwise enough to get close to her, Steve excepted. Natasha had definitely been on the receiving end of it though, and even Bucky had, despite the fact that Grace clearly thought there was something dangerous and unpredictable about him. Jessie had escaped it, largely through her absence – they'd seen very little of her since they'd set off. Her 'brothers' were clearly keeping her too busy to get on with her surely far more crucial job of spying on their enemies…

Yesterday had been a little different though. They'd arrived at the Kansas River Crossing at about mid-afternoon. This crossing had a ferry landing; making use of the ferries, though potentially expensive, was considered to be by far the safest way to cross the rivers they'd encounter along the way. Somehow, the whole wagon train had been booked passage for the following day (Natasha privately suspected that bribery had been involved), and so the intrepid travellers had been left with an afternoon or so to kick their heels. Most had taken advantage of the rest to catch up on sleep, or just take the weight off their feet; at this point, so early in the journey, there weren't many running repairs to make, so really there was little to do but rest. Of course, Mrs Rogers hadn't seen it that way – seeing Bucky sitting by his wagon, staring into space, she'd snapped at him and peremptorily sent him off to gather some firewood. Natasha smirked as she recalled how she'd got more than she'd bargained for – Bucky, stung by her manner, had clearly taken it out on some trees, and had presented her a short while later with enough firewood for practically the entire party's needs. Perhaps feeling a little ashamed of her earlier outburst, her response had been to invite them to dinner. This had been a godsend as far as Natasha was concerned – her cooking skills weren't exactly improving, mostly due to a peculiar blind spot she had concerning seasoning the food as she was cooking it. Bucky had so far been too polite (or too scared) to say anything, but it was clear he much preferred Grace's (and Jessie's) cooking. And to be fair, so did she. She had of course taken care to replace everything Grace had cooked for them with stocks from their own wagon, which had seemed to both surprise and touch Grace. Natasha wasn't sure if it had been because Grace had genuinely not thought it necessary, or if she'd been amazed that Natasha and Bucky between them had enough social graces to recognise the proprieties appropriately, but either way, Natasha felt it could only ingratiate them more with her, and that could only be a good thing. The more they could get Steve's beloved wife on side, the better.

The morning of the crossing dawned bright and clear, which Natasha took as a good omen. The crossing would take most of the day (the ferry only being able to carry so many wagons at a time), and the order of crossing had been agreed the day before. Natasha had used her persuasive skills to get her wagon early on the list, and Steve's high standing in the party meant he got preferential treatment and was crossing early too. The other side of the river looked much cleaner, and a lot less crowded, and altogether a much nicer place to be spending a large portion of the day. She didn't think Jessie's wagon party had been so lucky, but then, she had a feeling Jessie would hardly notice. She'd already seen her a few times so far that day, dragging water, firewood and the like hither and yon; she looked too busy to notice what was going on around her. She also looked tired and pale, which had not gone unnoticed by Steve; he'd therefore spent most of the morning thus far helping her as much as he could. Bucky had taken the opportunity to mend fences with Grace by stepping in and helping her with all the things Steve would otherwise be doing; his initiative, combined with just a touch of the old Bucky Barnes charm, had worked its magic. By the time Steve returned, looking frustrated, Bucky had done all of his work for him, and he, Grace and Natasha were sitting waiting for their appointed crossing time. She'd questioned Steve and discovered that his frustration was with Jessie, for being resistant to his offers to help her deal with her brothers. He was angry at them for leaving her to do all the work herself, and he clearly suspected that they'd been knocking her around a bit, although there wasn't really a lot of evidence of that. But when he'd offered himself as an ally to her, she'd refused his help and essentially told him to keep his nose out of it. Natasha could see why – for all Steve meant well, and possibly could stop them to some extent, his interference was more likely to make things a lot worse for her. Bucky instinctively seemed to understand that too; as much as he clearly didn't like the idea of Jessie being mistreated, he hadn't supported Steve's stance, much to Steve's disappointment. Grace had been more supportive, but even she had told him that there wasn't a lot he could do unless and until Jessie asked for his help, or there was a more pressing and obvious reason for him to intervene. Thankfully, before too long, it had been their turn to cross, and in the ensuing effort, Steve had seemed to forget about his crusade for justice.

Until that is, one of those more pressing and obvious reasons for him to intervene had arisen. The ferry crossings had been entirely uneventful – no accidents or problems, as the ferry was perfectly riverworthy and the river entirely placid. It was fast-flowing and deep, owing to snowmelt, but nothing the ferrymen hadn't seen a hundred times before. So there really shouldn't have been any problems with any of the crossings, but somehow, and Natasha still wasn't totally clear on exactly how it had happened, Jessie had fallen into the river. She didn't say she'd been pushed, but Natasha had her own private suspicions that whilst it might not have been a deliberate push, it probably had been down to something one of her brothers had done. Something about Jessie's demeanour suggested it to her, although she said nothing to confirm or deny it. The fact that not one of her brothers had done anything to try to save her, leaving it to the ferrymen to try to pull her in, until she'd got swept away from the ferry, and pulled downstream, confirmed at the very least that they weren't that bothered about her fate. Steve of course had seen it all, and as soon as Jessie was swept off, clearly struggling to keep her head above the water due to the hampering nature of her skirts, he'd sprinted down the bank after her, barely pausing to kick his boots off before diving in after her. Bucky had been in hot pursuit, though he didn't dive in after Steve, and Natasha, pausing only to grab blankets from her wagon, had hurried after them both. Thankfully, Steve's strength was more than equal to the pull of the river, and it didn't take him long to reach Jessie, stabilise her and drag her back to the bank, where Bucky was ready to pull them both out. Jessie was coughing and spluttering, and had clearly swallowed more of the river than was healthy, but at least it meant she was still breathing. She was also shivering violently, so Natasha quickly swept forward to strip off as much of her wet clothing as she could whilst keeping her decent, and then smothered her in blankets. There was a moment, as she'd pulled off Jessie's dress, when she'd been able to see the bruises on her upper arms, thus confirming Steve's suspicions. She'd looked up at Jessie then, to confront an unexpectedly fierce counter-look daring her to say a word, so Natasha had said nothing, and just wrapped her up before anyone else could see them. There'd been a flicker of doubt in Jessie's eyes after that, as if she couldn't understand why Natasha was helping her out, and had Steve not been there hovering protectively over her, Natasha would have asked her about HYDRA, but Steve was there, asking Jessie if she was ok, and the opportunity slipped away.

They made their way back up the bank to the crossing, Natasha and Bucky helping Jessie, whilst Steve strode on ahead, looking angry. As they came upon the landing, they saw that the ferry had docked in the meantime, and the wagons had been unloaded. There was a general murmur of relief that Jessie was safe, but most people's attention was riveted on the spectacle of little Grace Rogers tearing strips off Jessie's three hulking brothers. She was _furious_. Most people would have been more than a little taken aback, and not a little intimidated, by her rage, but not Jessie's brothers. Natasha figured that they were all singularly lacking in the intelligence to realise that somebody that angry could do an awful lot of damage if minded to do so, and Grace was clearly winding herself up to the mother and father of all slaps to the one in the middle, the one who was openly laughing at her, and seemingly totally indifferent to his sister's fate. Beside her, Natasha felt Bucky tense at the sight – she looked quickly across at him to warn him not to intervene, and then nodded back to where Steve, who'd continued striding purposefully across the distance between them and the confrontation, came up alongside his seething wife, and flattened the middle brother with a single punch. He then looked at the other two as if willing them to do something unwise so he could floor them too. Unfortunately, they finally realised their danger, and stood stock-still, watching Steve intently. Grace continued to harangue them, but they weren't laughing now. Eventually, hands raised in that universal gesture of surrender, they backed away and practically fled in the direction of their wagon, leaving their hapless brother prone on the ground. Grace looked of half a mind to kick him as he lay there, but then she turned to her husband and seemed inclined to lay into him for stealing her thunder. Something he said stopped her; although only his back was visible, it was clear that husband and wife were united in their ire, and Natasha got the distinct feeling that they were both fighting the urge to head off after the other brothers and finish the job.

"She's so like Peggy," breathed Bucky beside her. She turned to look at him, and saw admiration written all over his face. He turned to look back at her, clearly fighting the urge to grin, but his attention was suddenly distracted by Jessie's trembling legs no longer being willing to support her. As she began to subside, he instinctively reached out to steady her, but ended up lifting her into his arms when it became apparent that standing was no longer an option for her. As she shivered in his arms, he looked helplessly at Natasha, who quickly directed him to their wagon. Whilst he settled her down and tried to make her comfortable, Natasha rapidly built a fire to warm her up, and, when Grace bustled over, still obviously fuming but now more concerned for her friend, she co-opted her into making tea, and beef broth for later. Grace, not normally one to take kindly to being ordered around, meekly complied with Natasha's directions, whilst Bucky, also under orders, pulled off Jessie's soaking boots, and wrapped her icy feet in more blankets.

"We need to get her into dry clothes," stated Natasha, "and do something about her hair, or she's going to end up with pneumonia." Grace immediately volunteered one of her own dresses, and hurried off into her wagon to find it, leaving Natasha to supervise the brewing tea.

Jessie, meanwhile, was trying to struggle to her feet. "And where do you think you're going?" demanded Natasha.

"B-back to my w-wagon," Jessie stammered.

"No, you're not. You're staying right here until we've sorted you out."

"P-please, I-I have to,' Jessie tried to argue weakly, as she finally gained her feet, only to end up leaning against Bucky, who'd been hovering anxiously beside her.

"No, you really don't," retorted Natasha. "You have to put on some warm dry clothes, then sit by that fire, drinking tea and broth until you're warmed through. Otherwise, you're going to make yourself very sick." The ensuing staring match didn't last very long; Jessie looked down at her feet in miserable defeat, swaying unsteadily enough that Bucky put his arm around her again to keep her upright. She instinctively leaned into him, craving his warmth, one of her hands even unconsciously coming up to rest on his chest. Natasha knew he was unnaturally warm – whatever HYDRA had done to him had left him with a permanently raised temperature, which did mean the wagon was pleasantly toasty each night – and even though it wasn't strictly proper for Jessie to be feeling him up like that, she let it go, figuring that warming her up was more important than the proprieties of the time. Of course, Grace chose that moment to exit her wagon with a dress in her arms – confronted with the sight of Bucky and Jessie apparently cuddling, she looked very inclined to object. Natasha intervened before she could do so.

"Bucky, help Jessie over to the wagon, so she can get changed." He was quick to comply, having also seen the gathering Storm Grace, and practically carried Jessie the few intervening steps to the wagon. At this point, Steve emerged from the wagon, where he too had been getting changed. He sized up the situation remarkably quickly, and before his wife could do anything, he reached down and lifted Jessie gently from Bucky's arms into the wagon. He then took the dress and petticoats from Grace's arms, and handed them to Jessie, before coming down the steps of the wagon, firmly closing the door behind him and essentially bulldozing his about-to-protest wife over to the fire.

"She doesn't need your help to get changed, Grace," he said in response to her unspoken objection. "Give her some space."

Natasha wasn't sure if Steve had divined what she already knew, that Jessie would be covered in bruises that would just set Grace off again if she saw them, but whatever had prompted his actions, she was grateful to him. Even if it did mean Grace turned her temper on her, berating her for overbrewing the tea, whilst completely ignoring Bucky's presence (which was at least better than her taking him to task for his shocking lack of morals). Natasha bore with it quite well (not least as the overbrewed tea she was now going to have to drink, without milk, apparently as punishment, was how she normally drank it), but it was clear that Bucky wasn't so sure what he'd done wrong, when tartly informed that he'd be having it that way too. As Grace stalked off to make more 'proper' tea and start on the beef broth, he looked quizzically at Steve for clarification. Steve's expression was as exasperated as Natasha felt – could Bucky really be that oblivious? Natasha was beginning to wonder if he was just trolling them, up until the point at which he began to get quite genuinely worked up when Steve explained how cuddling another woman in front of your wife wasn't quite the done thing. Bucky was quite right that he'd been acting totally properly in not allowing her to fall to the ground and freeze, and Natasha did back him up when he appealed to her, but Steve was also right that certain people didn't see it that way. And were unlikely to listen to his reasoning. Bucky subsided into mutinous silence, but when Grace reappeared a few moments later to present him with his punishment tea, she was a little shocked to be greeted with a look that rivalled her own for stoniness. Natasha didn't entirely help by smiling broadly at Grace as she took her tea, and informing her that it was 'just the way she liked it'. As Grace, now very out of sorts with the world, settled down to prepare the broth which she was 'going to watch every second' and the new batch of tea, Steve muttered to them to stop winding her up. Natasha, by now enjoying herself enormously, grinned at Steve and informed him that she really liked his wife. In spite of his bad mood, Bucky couldn't help sniggering at her comment, and even Steve had to grudgingly smile. Just for a moment, it felt like old times to Natasha, and the feeling was most welcome.

The evening passed relatively uneventfully after that. Although Grace was still out of humour with Natasha and Bucky, she couldn't be cross with the cold and somewhat traumatised Jessie; once she emerged from the wagon, she fussed over her, helping her dry her hair, and feeding her tea and broth. Natasha watched from afar, but saw that Grace had things well in hand, and so didn't interfere. When Jessie started fretting about getting back to her wagon as she needed to get dinner for her brothers started, Grace told her to stay where she was; she'd prepare some dinner for them, and Steve could take it over to them. As far as Grace was concerned, Jessie wasn't going anywhere until she was satisfied that there would be no unpleasant consequences from her dip in the river. Being as it was four against one, Jessie didn't have a lot of choice but to comply. She was silent and withdrawn throughout the dinner, but did seem to have recovered both her temperament and her temperature, and was eventually deemed fit to return to her wagon, with Steve as an escort. He reported that there had been no problems when he came back, but added that he was going to check on her first thing tomorrow – he no longer trusted her brothers to look after her properly. Natasha couldn't help but feel encouraged by his manner throughout the whole day – he'd been so much more the commanding Captain America she knew so well, she was more confident than she'd ever been since they'd found him that they were going to get him back in the end


End file.
